


Checkmate

by NotEnoughAnswers



Series: Gotham [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-04
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2018-05-22 06:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 107,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6068968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotEnoughAnswers/pseuds/NotEnoughAnswers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of <i>The Killing Joke</i> as it might have happened in the Nolanverse. Everyone has a story. This is Jeannie's. She could never have predicted what would occur when she became hopelessly entangled with Jack Napier...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1: April 1994: Catalyst

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from FanFiction.Net, February 2016.

_**"Love will not be spurred to what it loathes."** _

_**-Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act 5, Scene 2.** _

**April 1994**

Some days, there just wasn't anything good on television.

Thirteen-year-old Jennifer Kerr lounged on the couch, waving the remote with one hand and holding the telephone with the other. Her best friend, Miranda, was currently yammering on about the "insane sales" there had been at the mall the day before. If Jeannie didn't distract herself somehow, she would go completely insane.

"So, like, I saw this cute pink top, but it was at the _trashiest_ store! Imagine what everyone would say if they found out I'd gotten it at the Clothing Barn! But I got an even cuter purple sweater at Suzy's Stitches, so that made up for it. I'm going again tomorrow because there was this adorable skirt that Eric said would look totally hot on me."

"Nice." Jeannie pressed the button on the remote yet again. The screen cut to a grainy image of a dark, filthy-looking alleyway where a woman cowered in the corner. A huge figure loomed over her.

" _Please—please don't hurt me! I didn't do anything—I swear—"_

" _You're in the wrong place at the wrong time, lady. You have five seconds to say your final goodbyes."_

" _No—please! I'll do whatever you want! My husband—"_

There was a loud crack, and everything went silent.

"My _God_ , Jeannie! What are you watching?" Miranda screeched.

"The news, actually." Jeannie rolled her eyes at it and flipped channels again.

"Are you serious? They show that kind of stuff on the _news_ _?_ " Miranda sounded horrified.

"I live in Gotham now, remember? It's America's Capital Crime City." Jeannie finally gave up and turned off the television. "Chicago's nothing compared to this."

"Well, I'm glad I'm not you then," her friend a thousand miles away said chirpily. "Anyway, what are you doing for your birthday? You're fourteen in a month, you know."

"I know." Jeannie groaned and closed her eyes. "And I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't really care about birthdays anymore." _Not without—_

"Jeannie, I don't want to be the one to tell you," Miranda suddenly burst out, "But…but…"

"What?"

"IsawOliverwithSamanthaDouglas."

It took Jeannie several seconds to separate the words, and then another second to process them. The phone went limp in her hand. "What were they doing?" she asked in a strangled voice.

Miranda hesitated. "They…were…holding…hands. But Samantha is just an attention seeking slut, everyone knows that. It won't be long before he dumps her."

"I have to go, Mir," Jeannie said, feeling her chest constrict.

"Jeannie, wait…"

"My mom is calling me. Bye." She quickly pressed the off button and stared at the blank television screen, feeling tears pricking at her eyes.

"Why are you still friends with her?" a voice said from the doorway.

Jeannie jumped when she saw her older sister Harriet, leaning against the wall as if she'd been there all along. "Why does it even matter to you?" she snapped.

"Miranda is a superficial airhead, like the rest of your friends back in Chicago," Harriet replied. "Shouldn't you start making some new friends in Gotham?"

"Gee, _thanks_ for the advice, sis," Jeannie said sarcastically. "Now that I've heard your wonderful words of wisdom, I can die happy."

Harriet shook her head in exasperation. "I'm just trying to help."

"Help _not_ appreciated!"

The older girl now looked angry. "Fine. I give up."

"Good," Jeannie muttered, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach.

The front door opened, and Harriet eagerly jumped forward. But it was just their father coming home from work. "Hi, girls," he said, sounding weary as he took off his jacket and hung it in the closet. "Sorry I had to work so late."

"I was hoping you were Zach," Harriet sulked. "He's taking me on a date tonight."

But Jeannie felt a pang of sympathy for her father. Michael Kerr had what was probably the most difficult job in Gotham: a police officer. Four months ago, the Gotham Police Department had sent out a desperate plea for help to all of the major cities in America. They had tried to recruit all of the officers they could by bribing them with enormous salaries and extended vacations. Mr. Kerr had taken up the offer at once and the family had relocated to Gotham. The move had been hard on everyone—especially Jeannie. But after her initial rage had calmed, she tried her hardest to be more understanding.

"How was your day, Dad?" she asked, more to distract herself than anything else.

Mr. Kerr shrugged. "It was no different than usual. Five arrests, three investigations of suspicious people…"

"Remind me again why we moved to Gotham?" Harriet asked cynically.

"We live in Gotham Estates, Harriet," Mr. Kerr said tiredly, rubbing his face. "It's the safest place in the entire city."

Just as Harriet was about to make an (obviously) intelligent and kind remark, the doorbell rang and she immediately threw the door open again. This time, it revealed a handsome, black-haired boy. "Hi, Zach!" Harriet squealed. "Bye, Dad! Mom knows where I'm going!" She grabbed the boy's arm and the two of them raced out the door.

Mr. Kerr shook his head and continued down the hallway. Jeannie followed him like a puppy would: it was either absorb herself in something else or go up to her room and cry.

In the kitchen, her other older sister, Rebecca, and her mother were cleaning up after dinner. "Oh, Michael, you're home," Victoria Kerr said in relief. "What took you so long?"

"One of our investigations went a little bit longer than we'd expected," Mr. Kerr answered.

"What happened?" Rebecca asked.

"A woman was assaulted in Gotham Acres," Mr. Kerr said, reaching into the fridge to get some leftovers. "We investigated the primary suspect but couldn't get anything out of him. His family insists that he's innocent."

"So how is he a primary suspect?" Jeannie said.

Mr. Kerr smiled and ruffled her hair. "Very sharp," he praised her. "Well, let's just say he's a known alcoholic and he was tried about nine years ago for murdering his wife."

"But he was proven innocent?"

"Yes, but for the life of me, I don't know how that was possible. All the evidence pointed to him." Mr. Kerr sat down at the table and leaned back in his chair. "Gotham is a corrupted city."

"If it makes you feel better, Dad, I've not been mugged, beaten, or raped yet," Jeannie said.

"That's because you've never left Gotham Estates." It was hard to tell whether her father was joking or not. "Speaking of which, Jeannie: do you know a boy by the name of Jack Napier, by any chance?"

It sounded vaguely familiar. "Um, I think there's one in my class."

"What does he look like?"

"God, I don't know." Jeannie tried her hardest to remember the blurred figure in her memories. "He has blond hair, I think. It's kind of curly. Oh, and he has these horrible scars on either side of his mouth. Like a twisted smile or something." She remembered the first time she'd glanced at the boy and automatically winced. He'd noticed her staring and glared back with hostile eyes until she turned away, shuddering.

"That's definitely the one." Mr. Kerr put down his fork. "He's the son of the man we were investigating today, Paul Napier. From Paul's files, I discovered that he has a fourteen-year-old son that goes to your school."

"That's nice," said Jeannie, confused. "Do you want me to do anything about it?"

"Actually, I do. Although we can't yet prove whether Paul Napier is guilty or not, Jack's father is not the nicest person at any rate. Until then, all we can do is make sure Jack seems relatively happy. I told Sergeant Gordon that I thought my daughter went to school with Jack, and he asked that you keep an eye on him. Talk to him, maybe. If he tells you anything or lets something slip, come to me at once."

Jeannie chewed on her lower lip. "So you want me to fake being his friend so I can wheedle information out of him that he clearly doesn't want to give? Nice, Dad."

Mr. Kerr let out a long sigh. "At least make sure he looks well."

"Okay, so I'll be a stalker and watch him from afar." Jeannie grinned and patted her father's shoulder. "Sounds fun."

"Jeannie—"

She laughed and ran out of the kitchen before he could catch her.

Once she was in her room, however, her cheerfulness disappeared. With nothing to distract her from what Miranda had said, she was alone with her thoughts.

When she was three years old, the Hammet family had moved in across the street from the Kerrs. Jeannie had immediately struck up a close friendship with their son, Oliver—a friendship that lasted for the next ten years. They had gone on vacations together, they'd had sleepovers, and they'd trusted each other with their deepest secrets and fears. Jeannie had developed a crush on him as time went on, but she didn't dare to tell him about it.

Shortly before the Kerrs moved to Gotham, Oliver's father had been shot. Jeannie had tried her hardest to comfort him, but he'd grown increasingly cold towards her. The last contact they'd had was at her good-bye party, where she'd plucked up the nerve to kiss him. He hadn't pulled away, but he didn't seem happy either. Even though Jeannie had given him all of her contact information before she'd left, he'd never attempted to reach her. And now, if Miranda was telling the truth, he was dating the most popular girl at school.

In a sudden burst of anger and resentment, Jeannie grabbed the picture frame standing on her bedside table (a photo of her and Oliver when they were ten) and threw it across the room. It hit the opposite wall with a loud thump and fell to the floor, where the glass shattered into a thousand pieces.

Jeannie slumped back onto her bed and burst into tears.

* * *

 _Life is a lot more depressing when you don't have any friends_ , she decided as she trudged to school the next morning. _Maybe Harriet_ was _right…maybe I need to stop obsessing about my life back in Chicago and try to make some new friends here._

But the problem was, who would? A few girls had tried to befriend Jeannie when she had first started school, but they had quickly stopped when she hadn't shown any interest back in them. For the past four months, she'd been a loner, an outsider. It had never bothered her…until now. If Oliver had moved on with his life, she ought to as well, right?

With a determined set to her chin, but a not-so-determined heart, she walked into the classroom trying to look friendly. Nobody even glanced up at her, though. The girls were all too absorbed in their own little cliques and the boys were too busy being…well… _boys_.

Jeannie huffed and dropped into her seat. It didn't matter anyway. There were just two more months of eighth grade before high school. She would surely make some new friends there.

Two minutes before the bell rang, Jack Napier walked into the classroom. Jeannie perked up with interest, remembering what her father had told her last night. Aside from the scars on his face, which were a good two inches long and curved upwards like a grotesque smile, he didn't look like the child of an abusive father.

In the four months she had been in Gotham, Jeannie hadn't heard Jack say a word. He sat at the very back of the classroom and was usually the first to leave and the last to arrive. She'd never seen him with anyone else. He appeared to be friendless—kind of like her. She'd never thought about that before.

Maybe she could try to befriend him. Or, at the very least, "keep an eye on him."

It wasn't as if she had anything better to do—as sad as it was.


	2. April 1994: Rescue

At her old school, Jeannie had been known best for her sarcasm and dark sense of humor. She'd never been popular, but she'd never really been bullied either. Oliver had always said she was too daring for him; that he preferred caution rather than risk. Jeannie had just laughed it off, but lately she had to admit to herself that she'd definitely become quieter and more passive. She'd withdrawn into a ghost of her former self. Sometimes she missed the snappy, outgoing Jeannie her friends had known her as. Other times she found she preferred being more solemn and brooding. It was Gotham, she finally decided. The city was slowly but surely sucking the life out of her. After all, when you lived in a city where the numbers on the monthly crime rate were higher than most people's yearly salaries, it was rather difficult to be optimistic.

When recess that day came around, Jeannie found herself wandering aimlessly around the school property with nothing to do but flip a coin she'd found on the ground. _Heads, Oliver will start talking to me again. Tails, he won't._ Of course, the coin landed on tails. She hadn't expected anything else.

Jeannie continued flipping the coin with her thumb, trying to perfect her throw. There was a certain way you had to flick your fingers or else it would just fall to the ground. As she got better at it, Jeannie let the coin fly farther up, spreading her hand as it fell with a satisfying smack back onto her palm.

One time, though, she accidentally let the coin fly too far. It spun out of her reach and landed right in front of someone approaching her. "Oh, sorry," Jeannie said, bending down to retrieve it. But the person in front of her had already picked it up.

Jack Napier wordlessly handed her back her coin. Jeannie couldn't help but avert her gaze from his gruesome scars. "Thanks," she said, not looking at him.

"You're the new girl, right?" It was the first time she had heard him speak.

"Yeah. I'm Jennifer," she replied in some surprise, figuring it would be safer not to reveal her last name. He probably remembered who Officer Kerr was.

"Jack," he said in return before turning around and walking away.

 _At least I got him to talk,_ Jeannie thought happily as she watched his retreating figure. _Dad oughta raise my allowance if this keeps up._

* * *

Harriet brought her new boyfriend Zach over for dinner that night. The seven of them—Michael, Victoria, Rebecca, Jeannie, Harriet, Zach and Jeannie's older brother Liam—sat awkwardly around the table while everyone tried in vain to make conversation.

"So, uh, there are four of you, right?" Zach asked Harriet.

She nodded. "Liam's eighteen, Becky's sixteen, I'm fifteen and Jeannie's thirteen."

"Almost fourteen," Jeannie interjected.

"Nice," said Zach, and the table lapsed into silence again.

"Where do your parents work?" Mr. Kerr asked.

"My dad works at Wayne Enterprises and my mom's a professor at Gotham University," Zach answered.

Jeannie stifled a yawn. Harriet shot her a look of pure venom.

"So what does your mother teach?"

"Criminology. Her classes are highly sought after and students from all over the world compete to get in…"

Zach was quite possibly the most boring person to ever walk the earth, Jeannie figured. He was perfect for Harriet.

"Can I go for a walk?" she finally asked when she couldn't bear his monotone voice anymore.

"Yes, take as long as you want," Harriet said quickly.

Mrs. Kerr sighed. "I don't know, Jeannie. It's dark and Gotham isn't exactly safe…"

"Please, Mom? I won't go far and Gotham Estates is harmless."

Her parents exchanged a look. "Fine," Mr. Kerr finally said. "Twenty minutes, tops. If you're any longer, we're going to go look for you."

"Thanks!" Jeannie exclaimed. She jumped out of her seat and hurried towards the front door. As she left she distantly heard her mother call, "Don't talk to anyone!"

It was a cold spring night. Jeannie took a random turn and began walking down the smooth paved street, reveling in her independence. She wished Oliver was beside her right now, cracking jokes and telling her they would be friends forever. She would give anything to have her oldest friend beside her.

But she was so deep in her thoughts she forgot to memorize the route she was taking. Too late, she realized she was lost. She'd not been out at night much, and the twisting suburban streets were foreign in the darkness, illuminated only by dim streetlamps.

All of a sudden, loud voices came from behind her. Jeannie turned around to see a group of men coming up the street towards her. Their arms were around each other and they were singing loudly. They were drunk. Perhaps Gotham Estates wasn't as safe as she'd originally thought.

Jeannie knew she couldn't let the men see her. The only way to go was forward. She started walking again, but her heart sank when she realized the only thing ahead was a forest.

The dark trees certainly looked inviting, but Jeannie had read enough newspaper articles to realize what could happen to her if she took refuge in there. But going back past the men certainly wasn't an option either.

Perhaps if she hid behind the first row of trees she would be relatively safe. Jeannie jogged toward the forest and hid behind a large bush, waiting for the slurred voices to grow fainter.

Something was poking at her back. Quietly, Jeannie turned around—and screamed as she saw a pair of glowing eyes staring at her. She lost her balance and tumbled head over heels down what felt like a steep hill. Branches stabbed at her face and she could feel pinecones digging into her back. When she finally came to a halt, everything was pitch black. Jeannie lifted up her hand, but she couldn't even see her fingers two feet in front of her. She had been scared by some stupid owl or raccoon.

It was just her luck, wasn't it?

Jeannie stumbled to her feet, pulling leaves out of her hair, and tried to deduce which way she had come from. But there was no way to tell. The only sounds were her ragged breathing and the wind whistling through the trees.

Something hot and wet was dripping into her eyes. Jeannie wiped the blood away and felt a huge gash on her forehead. She shuddered with disgust as a metallic taste began to seep into her mouth.

Angry tears pierced at her eyes. Jeannie let them fall, gulping and gasping for air. She was going to die here, and it was all her fault. She would have listened to Zach's voice a thousand times over if it meant being safe at home.

A light shone through the trees in front of her, and Jeannie began crying even harder. It was either a ghost or a rapist come to take advantage of her. "Leave…me…alone," she panted.

But the light got closer. Jeannie tensed herself and prepared to charge at the stranger, but she stopped when a pair of familiar brown eyes locked onto hers.

Jack Napier stared at her for a second, surprise briefly visible on his features, before he turned emotionless again.

"What are you doing here?" Jeannie said breathlessly. Her heart was pounding like mad and she felt breathless.

"I could say the same thing about you."

Jeannie noticed he looked just as bad as she did: his scars were even more prominent in the dim light and he had numerous cuts on his face, as well as a black eye. "I don't want to talk about it," she said.

Jack lowered his flashlight.

"Don't hurt me!" Jeannie gulped.

"I wasn't going to." Jack strode over to her and examined her face closely. "Did someone hit you?" he asked.

"No—if you _must_ know, I got startled and fell down a hill." Jeannie crossed her arms and stared defiantly back at him until he turned away.

To her surprise, he smirked. "Too bad your name isn't Jill."

"What?"

"Jack and Jill fell down the hill," Jack recited, the smirk still on his face. "Haven't you ever heard of that one?"

"Yes, but your joke isn't funny." Jeannie huffed. "Is there some way you can help me get back home?"

The smirk disappeared. "Where do you live?"

"Eleven ninety Grove Street," she answered.

Jack looked exasperated. "That's not even ten minutes from here."

"Ex- _cuse_ me, but I was still lost," Jeannie retorted. "I haven't been out much. How was I supposed to know there was a forest around here?"

"You live on _Grove Street_."

Jeannie paused. She hadn't thought of that.

Jack rolled his eyes again and tossed a curl back over his forehead. "Follow me."

Jeannie hesitated, but she really had no other choice. With Jack's flashlight leading the way, she trailed after him back up a hill and out through a line of trees. He had been right: within ten minutes they were standing back on the road.

Jack switched his flashlight off and began walking down the street. Jeannie had to run to keep up with him. "What were _you_ doing in the woods anyway?" she asked. "Did you fall down a hill too? Is that why your face is so—"

" _No_." The word was forced out and sharp. Jeannie felt antagonism radiate from the boy again. It was as if he had shut himself off from her.

When they had reached Jeannie's house, Jack stopped at the driveway. Jeannie gulped as she saw that lights still shone from the windows and there was even a police car parked on the street. She was going to be in serious trouble. "Well, thank you," she said lamely.

Jack gave a quick nod of his head. "Just don't go wandering around in the woods again, Jennifer."

There was something about him saying her name that she took delight in. As he began to walk away she called, "Jack?"

He didn't slow, but turned his head ever so slightly.

"Call me Jeannie."

Jack didn't give any indication that he had heard her, but somehow Jeannie knew he had. She watched him until he had turned a corner and disappeared before she squared her shoulders and prepared to face her family.


	3. April 1994: Surprise

"What happened with _you?"_ a girl asked as soon as Jeannie walked into class the next morning.

"I had a wrestling match with a tree," Jeannie said. She dropped her books loudly on the desk and dropped into her seat, massaging her temples. What with her parents' two-hour lecture on the dangers of Gotham and all the perils a girl of her age could get into when she was alone at night, she had been awake well past midnight. She didn't need to worry about not being able to catch up on sleep, though—she was grounded for the next week.

The girl, whose name Jeannie didn't remember, looked as though she didn't know whether to believe her or not. "I guess you lost?"

"Obviously." Jeannie felt a prickle on the back of her neck and lifted her head to see Jack Napier staring at her. She offered him a small smile, but he didn't return it. Her heart sank. Well, if he wanted to be _that_ way…

"You're Jeannie, right?" the girl asked. She had long brown hair and bright green eyes.

Jeannie nodded.

"I'm Emily Nashton. Nice to meet you." The girl grinned widely, exposing silver braces. "I've always wanted to talk to you, but I never got the chance until now."

Jeannie smiled in return. She'd made a new friend without even trying. Perhaps she wasn't so unlucky after all.

* * *

Jack didn't look at her for the rest of the day. This bothered Jeannie more than it should have. Her curiosity was fully awakened now; why was he wandering around the forest in the middle of the night with all those cuts on his face? He surely couldn't have tripped and fallen too…could he?

"You got a crush on Jack Napier or something?" Emily asked her at the end of last period. "You've been staring at him all day."

"N—no, I don't," Jeannie stammered. "He's just…mysterious."

"Mysterious is right," Emily said. "Last year he got caught bringing a knife to school. He was suspended for a week, but it was enough to make all the kids leave him alone. He used to get bullied a lot, especially when we started seventh grade. He was called Scarface for a while—original, huh?—but after a month or so everyone stopped. No one knows why and the bullies refuse to speak about it." Emily was grinning at the gossip. "Maybe he cut _them_ —"

"Ugh, stop it!" Jeannie exclaimed. "I already know Gotham has a high crime rate; I don't need you making me feel worse!"

Emily laughed. "Sorry. But you know, it's not as bad as everyone makes it out to be. Maybe it's just exaggerated since it's such a big city."

"Maybe," Jeannie shrugged. But then she thought of the drunk men the previous night and wasn't so sure.

* * *

The rest of the week passed slowly. It was a good thing her teachers were giving her lots of homework—being grounded, she had nothing to do otherwise.

The last day of her punishment turned out to be bright and sunny. Jeannie was allowed to sit outside in the backyard, and she lounged on a chair, feeling the gentle spring breeze ruffle her hair. She was feeling oddly content. School had settled into a more comfortable routine ever since she had become friends with Emily. The only mystery now was Jack Napier: he hadn't so much as looked at her for the rest of the week. Jeannie was more stung by this than she cared to admit.

She had just opened up a fashion magazine she'd stolen from Rebecca when the doorbell rang in the distance. "I'll get it!" she heard Harriet cry. Jeannie grinned and strained her ears. Harriet never had visitors.

" _Zach_!" her sister cried. Jeannie's grin grew even wider. Despite only having known him for four months, Harriet and Zach were dating in earnest. It was a good thing Mr. and Mrs. Kerr didn't let them be alone in a room together—Jeannie suspected she would become an aunt if that happened.

The back door swung open and Harriet stepped out with Zach in tow. "Oh...it's you," she said to Jeannie in a voice that implied _Get out of here._

Jeannie rolled her eyes and stood up. "Don't let me disturb you," she said, grabbing her magazine and going back inside.

Mrs. Kerr was spying on the couple outside. "Mom, take a breather," Jeannie said, patting her on the shoulder. "They're not gonna go at it in the backyard."

"I know," Mrs. Kerr said as her face turned slightly pink. "But this is Harriet's first boyfriend…"

"And her last too, probably," Jeannie remarked cheerfully.

Before Mrs. Kerr could chastise her, Liam stuck his head around the door. "I'm going over to the bookstore," he said. "My professor says that he'll give extra credit to anyone who can intelligently argue against the author's points."

"What book?" Mrs. Kerr asked.

" _Philosophical Issues and Criminological Theory._ "

Jeannie suddenly had an idea. "Liam, can I go with you?" she asked. "I've hardly been out of the house this weekend and I'm running out of books…"

"But you're grounded," Liam said.

Jeannie turned to her mother. "Please, Mom? I'll stay with Liam all the time."

Mrs. Kerr sighed. "Fine. You're paying for whatever books you buy, though."

"I will," Jeannie said excitedly as she rushed up to her room to get her piggy bank. From downstairs, she heard Liam groan.

Five minutes later, the two of them set off for the bookstore. Jeannie was surprised when Liam didn't turn onto the main road; instead, he was heading straight for the forest. "I thought we were going to the bookstore," she said.

"We are. This is just a shortcut." Liam headed down a path that Jeannie hadn't previously noticed. Then again, it had been dark when she had last come here.

The woods seemed much friendlier in daylight. Birds chirped and a brook ran merrily beside them. Jeannie saw the small hill where she had tumbled down and where Jack had found her. He must have been walking down the path and heard her crying.

"Now," Liam said when the trees began to thin, "We're going into one of the most dangerous parts of the city—"

"I thought Gotham itself was one big danger?"

He pretended she hadn't interrupted. "—So walk fast, keep your head down and _don't look at anyone_."

"Sure," said Jeannie, feeling rather excited. "Are we stopping here for you to do a drug deal or something?"

Liam groaned. "See, this is _exactly_ why I didn't want my kid sister tagging along."

"I'm thirteen!" Jeannie protested.

They emerged from the path onto another street. "Remember—keep your head down," Liam warned.

That didn't mean Jeannie couldn't look around, though. She made sure she was keeping up with her brother's brisk pace before she stole a glance around her.

It was as if they were in an entirely different place. Grove Street was full of large suburban houses with well-kept lawns. This street (a dilapidated sign informed them it was called River Street) didn't even _have_ lawns. The houses all seemed to be strung together in one crumbling, red-brick line. Most driveways didn't have cars and the paint jobs on the houses were peeling. Jeannie could hear people cursing, televisions blaring, and doors slamming. The smell of cigarette smoke filled the air.

"Hey, little girl!" a slurred voice yelled from one of the doorsteps. Jeannie lifted her eyes up to see an overweight, balding man wearing a muscle shirt and smoking a cigar. "Wanna come play with me and my buddies?"

"Don't look," Liam hissed.

Someone catcalled from another house and Jeannie felt her cheeks flaming. In order to distract herself, she pretended that she was the heroine in a mystery novel and she was going to investigate the scene of a crime.

Her thoughts distracted her sufficiently until they came within earshot of a man yelling. "That will teach you to waste money, you little swine!" There was the sound of something being slammed against a wall.

Jeannie couldn't help it: she turned, and her eyes widened when she saw a man towering over the hunched form of Jack Napier. Jack was pinned up against a wall while the man—his father?—spat and cursed at him, calling him names Jeannie had only heard when she'd accidentally watched an R-rated movie.

"You waste ten dollars to buy a goddamned _book_?" the man screamed. His fist came down again and he slapped Jack hard across the face. "That'll teach you the value of goddamned money!"

"Liam," Jeannie whispered, tugging on her brother's sleeve. "That boy is in my class!"

Liam barely glanced at them. "Unfortunate," he said.

Jeannie couldn't believe her brother didn't care more about this. A fourteen-year-old boy was being abused in broad daylight and he wasn't even worried about it? Mr. Kerr was supposed to be a police officer. Where was her brother's sense of compassion?

They had already passed the house, but the man's yells still reached Jeannie's ears. Her stomach turned when she replayed the memory of the man hitting Jack. No wonder he had looked so injured when he had found her in the woods…no wonder he had been in the woods in the first place.

Shaking slightly, Jeannie finally came to the realization that her life _wasn't_ , in fact, the catastrophe she made it out to be.

Not one bit.

* * *

"Liam," she said when they'd finally arrived at the bookstore, "Do we have to go back that way? Isn't there some other—"

"It's the only way I know of, Jeannie," he told her. "We'd have to cross one of the main streets otherwise, and I was nearly run over yesterday."

She sighed and gathered up her new books in her arms. She didn't know what she'd do, what she'd say, if Jack saw her.

They were at the bookstore for half an hour—long enough for Jack to have either run away or go inside—but Jeannie still felt unsettled as they set off back the way they'd come. The sun was just starting to set over Gotham, illuminating the massive glass skyscrapers and casting a brilliant glow over the city.

Liam led the way again; hurrying Jeannie down the sidewalk and concealing his bag inside his jacket in case there were thieves around. Jeannie was so determined on not looking up this time that she barely noticed when she nearly walked right into someone else.

"S—sorry," she squeaked in spite of herself. She automatically glanced up and her heart skipped a beat when she recognized the brown eyes and curly blond hair of Jack Napier. He was holding a cloth to his cheek and his clothes were ripped.

Time stood still for a split second as they stared at one another—surprised blue eyes meeting cold brown ones— then Liam said, "Come _on_ , Jeannie!" and the moment passed.

Jeannie didn't turn back around, but she could feel Jack's gaze boring into her. She wondered, yet again, what exactly compelled her to this boy.


	4. April 1994: Friends

"Are you going to tell Dad?" Jeannie asked her brother as they turned back onto the forest path.

Liam gave her a funny look. "Tell him what?"

"That we saw a boy in my class being beaten!" she exclaimed. _Never mind the fact that it's Jack Napier. If I told Dad what we'd seen, he'd arrest Paul for sure._

Liam sighed. "Jeannie, you have to understand something. You're probably not old enough to realize it yet, but sometimes we shouldn't intervene with other people's affairs."

"Why not?" she exclaimed. "You're going through _law school_ , Liam! Don't you agree that beating your child is illegal?"

"Of course I do. But you have to gather all the facts before you go around arresting people. What if it becomes worse for the boy if his father is arrested? Is he a bully himself? How will he cope to being in a foster home? What if his mother is angry at the fact that her husband has been sent to jail and starts beating him herself?"

"I don't see your point," Jeannie said through gritted teeth.

"I don't expect you to." Liam ran a hand over his chin. "Fine, then. Have it your way, Jeannie. Just make sure Dad gets all the facts first."

* * *

After dinner that night, Jeannie approached her father. "Dad?" she asked hesitantly.

Mr. Kerr looked up from his paper. "Hi, honey. What is it?"

"Do you remember last week when you were telling me to keep an eye on Jack Napier?"

"Yes, I do. Have you discovered anything new?"

"Um…" She winced. She'd always been a terrible liar. "Can you tell me more about his father first?"

Mr. Kerr frowned. "I don't think I'm allowed to tell you that, Jeannie. I swore an oath of secrecy when I became a police officer promising that—"

"It's not as if I'll tell anyone!" she pleaded. "Besides, I'm your daughter, not just some random person on the street. I just want to know the basics."

Her father surveyed her for another moment before speaking. "If you tell _anyone_ this, Jeannie, my job could be in jeopardy."

"I _swear,_ Dad."

Mr. Kerr finally nodded. "Here are the basics: Paul Napier grew up here in Gotham. As a teenager, he was convicted of several assaults and robberies. He married a woman named Diana Grant when he was twenty-four and they had a son a year later. When his son was five years old, Paul was tried for murdering his wife, Diana, but was declared innocent. Three years ago he remarried, to a woman named Marissa Moore. He's been under the radar ever since then, at least until last week."

"And you haven't found him guilty of anything yet?"

"No—the woman he purportedly assaulted refuses to take the case to court. Until we find solid evidence, he's perfectly innocent." Mr. Kerr fixed her with a knowing gaze. "Now, what is you wanted to tell me?"

Jeannie bit her lip. She ought to at least tell Jack what she was going to do before she told her father. It seemed almost cowardly to just let Mr. Kerr arrest Paul Napier without telling his son first…

"Nothing, Dad. There's nothing I want to tell you."

_Yet._

* * *

At school the next morning, she was even more agitated than usual. Jack hadn't shown up.

"What's eating you?" Emily asked after a while. "You look worried."

Jeannie debated on whether or not to tell her, but decided that there was something personal about it. If her parents were beating _her_ , she wouldn't want a boy she had just met telling his friends everything he had seen.

Halfway through Math class, the door opened and Jack finally walked in. The teacher didn't even pause; he just continued the problem he was doing on the board. There were several suppressed snorts from the other students.

Jeannie surreptitiously glanced over at him once he sat down. He looked to have a black eye and his scars seemed more prominent than usual. She felt a pang of pity. Nobody deserved to go through what he appeared to every day.

* * *

At recess, she found herself alone. Emily had a soccer practice, and seeing as how she was Jeannie's only friend, the new girl had nowhere to go.

After a bit of aimlessly wandering around, Jeannie found herself sitting by a clump of old trees near the edge of the school property. She opened one of the books she had bought the previous day and began to read.

But before long, she heard the sound of footsteps in front of her. Jeannie prepared to glare up at the offending intruder, but froze when she saw Jack Napier. "H-hi," she said nervously.

"How much did you see?" he asked immediately. His tone wasn't friendly.

"See what?" Jeannie said slowly.

Jack's hands balled into fists. "You know."

Jeannie sighed and closed her book. "I saw enough."

"Who did you tell?"

"No one," she admitted.

He was momentarily surprised. Jeannie watched him closely. She wondered if there was a knife hidden in his jacket like Emily had told her.

"Just keep it that way, then," the curly-haired boy finally said.

Jeannie shook her head. "Jack, I can't see you getting beaten half to death and refuse to tell anyone—"

"Technically, you can." He raised his eyebrows.

Jeannie sighed. "You can get help," she told him. "I'll feel guilty for the rest of my life if I just let this go on."

"No, you won't," he replied. "You'll feel guilty for a while, then you'll shrug it off and just forget about it. Believe me. It's happened before." Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he began to walk away.

"Jack, wait!" Jeannie called. She stuffed her book into her bag and threw it over her shoulders before running after him.

Despite his long legs, she caught up with him easily. "Jack," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He immediately flinched away and Jeannie realized her mistake. "I have to tell you something."

He glanced over at her with wary eyes. "What?"

She paused, aware she was taking a risk. "My father is Michael Kerr. He's a police officer—"

Was it just her, or did his eyes turn darker at her words? "Let me guess," Jack said slowly, anger lacing his voice. "Your daddy asked you to make friends with me so he could get the evidence he wants?"

Jeannie didn't know what to say.

He took her silence as a confirmation. "Well, tell him and everybody else to _stay away._ We don't need anyone's help."

"He was _beating_ you, Jack. Don't tell me you actually enjoy that."

Jack's hand flew to his pocket, and Jeannie flinched. Oh God…he was going to take his knife out and stab her—

And he _laughed._ He actually _laughed._ His expression, which had been livid a moment before, had turned to amusement. "What's the matter…Jeannie? Have you been listening to all the stories people say about me? Afraid that I'll _stab_ you with the knife I always carry in my pocket?"

"I—no—"

"You know," Jack said, still chuckling, "You're different, I'll give you that. Most people run away from me as soon as they see the scars."

The bell rang in the distance, signaling the end of recess. But the two eighth-graders didn't move.

"So you want me to lie to my dad?" Jeannie asked. "Or keep _your_ secret? I've barely talked to you."

"Remember the forest a week ago?" Jack countered. "You owe me."

"I don't owe you anything! I would have found a way out by myself!"

"Funny, it sure didn't _look_ like it." Now he was smirking.

Jeannie drew an angry line in the dirt with her heel. "Failure to report a crime is just as bad as committing the crime itself."

"Planning to become a lawyer, are you?"

She groaned. "Why don't you want the police to come after your father anyway? He assaulted a woman and she's refusing to come forward."

"That's kind of the point," Jack said. "Isn't it obvious? She was a prostitute. Some of them complain to the police after they…ah, _finish_ with a customer, complaining of abuse. My father isn't stupid enough to _actually_ abuse them."

Jeannie's mouth fell open. _I'm not even going to_ think _about the reason why Paul Napier was with a prostitute in the first place…how do I know Jack is telling the truth?_

"If you don't believe me, ask your daddy who that woman really was," Jack continued. "If he shows you proof that she was just a normal citizen, then I give you permission to tell the police every single thing you saw yesterday. Haven't you ever wondered what a _decent_ woman was doing in Gotham Acres anyway?"

"How am _I_ supposed to know? I moved to Gotham—"

"Four months ago," Jack finished, rolling his eyes. "I remember. Anyway, do we have a deal?"

Jeannie shook her head. "Not until you tell me why you don't want my father to arrest yours."

"There are several reasons." Jack left it at that, but there was amusement sparkling in his dark eyes.

 _Two can play this game,_ Jeannie thought angrily. "Fine, then. I guess the deal's off." She turned around and began walking back toward the school.

Jack cursed under his breath. "All right. Go and tell your daddy—"

" _Stop_ making fun of me!"

"—All about what you saw yesterday. Then when his friends come after your family because your dad threw him in jail, don't say I didn't warn you."

Jeannie slowly turned around to see him smirking. "You mean we'd be in danger?"

"That's what I just said," Jack replied. "If you want to take that risk, go ahead."

She glanced around the property. They were the only ones in sight; sooner or later a teacher would spot them and send them to the principal. "Meet me here after school."

Jack nodded.

"You know," Jeannie said as they walked back to the school, "You're different. I thought you were this silent kid who never talked."

"That _is_ the general opinion," Jack agreed. He turned his unnerving grin onto her. "But mostly it's because they don't care enough to talk to me first."

"I care," Jeannie said suddenly. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly the most popular person here."

"I can see that," Jack said. It wasn't clear whether he was joking or not.

 _I feel bad for him,_ Jeannie thought. _He really_ is _nice when you start talking to him. People shouldn't judge him just by personal appearance._

It never occurred to her that he was a loner because he _wanted_ it to be that way.

* * *

When the final bell rang, Jack was the first to leave as usual. But this time, he shot a knowing smirk at Jeannie before he disappeared. This didn't escape the notice of Emily, who stared at her friend wide-eyed. "Did that—did Jack Napier just _acknowledge_ you?"

"Yes," Jeannie admitted.

"Why?" Emily looked curious and a little bit shocked.

"I…" Jeannie liked Emily, but she didn't feel close enough to her to explain things just yet. "It's a…family connection, I guess you could say."

This seemed to placate the other girl, who dropped the subject. "Do you want to come over to my house sometime?" she asked. "My mom always wants to get to know my friends." She smiled apologetically. "We can bake cookies or something."

"That sounds great," said Jeannie happily as they walked out of the classroom. "When?"

"How about this Friday? My dad's away on a business trip. You'll just have to deal with my weird brother, but he's harmless, really."

"You have a brother?" Emily had never mentioned any siblings before.

"Yeah. Edward's only two years older than me, but he's already in twelfth grade. He's a genius." Something in Emily's tone hinted that she was leaving a lot out of this description. Jeannie didn't mind; she'd just left out a huge piece of _her_ story.

The girls exchanged telephone numbers and parted ways outside of the school. Jeannie quickened her pace as she walked towards the soccer field; she was suddenly anxious.

But Jack was nowhere to be seen. At first Jeannie was worried, but it was soon replaced by an annoyed feeling. He seemed just the type to go back on his word; he was probably halfway home by now. Well, at least this meant she could go tell her father everything.

"Looking for someone?" a voice said in her ear and she jumped. Jack was standing beside her as if he had been there all along, grinning easily.

"How did you…?" Jeannie trailed off, willing her heart to slow down.

"You're not very observant," he chided. "You're caught up in your own little world all the time. Maybe you should work on facing reality, _Jean_ -nie." He drawled her name out, pronouncing every syllable separately.

It annoyed her. Oliver had used to say her name a similar way. But she couldn't help but be surprised; the intimidating and serious Jack from the previous week was gone. It was as if he was a different person. There was no trace of the boy who had snapped the word " _No_ " at her while his dark eyes flashed a dangerous expression.

"So," Jack began. "Where were we?"

"I believe you were telling me about how my family would be in danger if your father was sent to jail," Jeannie said.

"Ah, I remember now," he nodded. She wished he would wipe that stupid smirk off of his face. Then again, with those scars, it looked like he had a permanent smile…"I'm not stopping you from squealing on him, of course. I want my father gone as much as everyone else does."

"Then what was the point of our conversation at recess?"

His tongue flicked across his lips. "If your father is the one that sends Paul Napier, one of the highest-ranking Falcone officials—"

"Wait, what? The Falcones?"

Jack sighed in impatience. "Keep _up_ , Jeannie. The Falcones are part of the mob in Gotham. They run a secret underground network. The police have been trying to catch them for ages."

"So your father works for them?" she asked excitedly.

"Yeah."

"Then this is all the evidence we need!" Jeannie said. "He could be in jail by tonight."

Something flickered in Jack's eyes. "Your father can't be the one who ultimately convicts him."

"Not with this again!" Jeannie groaned. "Listen, Jack—your concern for me is touching, it really is, but Dad's a police officer. He can take care of himself. My family will be _fine_."

"Listen to me, Jeannie!" the boy suddenly burst out, all traces of humor gone. "I've seen what happened to the _last_ police officer's family that turned in a man who had been working for the Falcones. They were cut up in little pieces and scattered all over their house. An arm here, a leg there—"

Jeannie was horrified. "So _that's_ why you don't want your father turned in? Because you don't want the Falcones to come after the police officers?" She thought of Paul slamming his son against the side of his house like he was a rag doll. "No. There's something else. You don't strike me as a martyr, Jack."

"Aren't we using big words today?" Jack retorted bitterly. "Your father saved my life, Jeannie. I would feel guilty if he died and I could have prevented it by keeping my mouth shut."

"He saved your life?"

But Jack pretended not to hear her. "Besides, I have a _better_ way of proving him guilty."

"You do?"

He snorted. "Of course. Do you think I would have just let him beat me all those years if I believed he would always be around?" He didn't wait for her response. "The thing is, _Jean_ -nie, I need a second person to help me with my plan. I haven't been able to find one until now."

"So what you're saying is, you're just _using_ me? You've just been nice to me because you thought I could help you?"

His eyes lit up. "The funny thing is, I find I'm actually starting to _like_ you now. You have guts, unlike most of the other people in this city."

"Thanks, Romeo," she said sarcastically.

"Anyway, isn't that what _you_ were doing too?" He turned on her. "Your daddy asked you to keep an eye on me. You wouldn't have talked to me otherwise."

Jeannie was caught, and she knew it. "Well, _Jack_ , the funny thing is, I find I'm actually starting to like you too."

He laughed. "So what do you say, _Jean_ -nie? Are we friends now?"

"I suppose," she admitted.

"Fair enough." He held out his hand to her. "So you're part of the plan?"

"Not until I hear what it is!"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I thought we were friends, Jeannie! Friends trust each other."

She glared at him; she had been caught. Besides, there was something in the depths of his brown eyes that made her heart skip a beat. "Is the plan dangerous?"

"Not at all."

"You're lying."

"Me?" He pretended to pout. "I'm a man of my word."

"You're hardly a man," she muttered, but closed her hand around his in a handshake. She noticed that Jack's hand jerked slightly in hers, almost as if it was an automatic reaction when he was touched. Remembering who his father was, Jeannie quickly withdrew her hand.

"Meet here tomorrow before school?" he asked, apparently recovering fast. "We'll need to get started right away."

"Sure," Jeannie agreed. "It's a date."

She could have smacked herself at that moment. A blush quickly crept up her cheeks. Jack was cute for sure, but not _boyfriend_ material. She imagined a scenario where they held hands walking down the sidewalk; the stares they would get would be unbearable. No. That couldn't happen. Maybe if he didn't have his scars…

But he merely smirked. "See you tomorrow, _Jean_ -nie."

"Don't say my name like that!" she snapped.

He raised his eyebrows in a gesture that implied _What are you going to do about it_?

Annoyed, she stomped away before she could do something she would regret.

Jeannie was halfway home before she realized that, in the space of an hour, she had switched from her father's side to Jack Napier's.

But that didn't have to be the case, right? All Mr. Kerr wanted was for Paul to be proven guilty and everything would be fine.

She hoped.


	5. April 1994: Plan

Jeannie was braced for her parents giving her a hard time about coming home late, but when she walked in the door she was greeted by a pleasant surprise. Absolutely no one was around.

There was a note on the kitchen counter that read, _Jeannie—I have gone to get some groceries. Dad is still at work, Liam has the night shift, Rebecca is at a friend's and Harriet is at Zach's. Call me if you need anything. Mom._

It was so rare that she got to be home alone, Jeannie did a little jump for joy and then proceeded to raid the cupboards for all the food that her family stowed away. She turned the stereo on full-blast and collapsed onto the couch, a huge smile on her face.

Night had almost fallen when Jeannie heard a car pull up. She quickly turned off the stereo and stuffed the last piece of chocolate cake into her mouth before she grabbed her textbooks and a pencil. When Mrs. Kerr walked in with armfuls of grocery bags she found her youngest daughter sitting at the table doing homework.

"Hi, Mom," Jeannie said, looking up from her work. "I got your note."

"I can see that," Mrs. Kerr said dryly. She nodded to the plate on the counter that still held traces of cake crumbs.

Jeannie smiled apologetically.

The front door banged open again and Harriet and Rebecca came in. "I picked Harriet up from Zach's," Rebecca said. She had just gotten her driver's license and never hesitated to rub it in everyone's faces.

"Were his parents there?" Mrs. Kerr asked.

They shared a quick conspiratorial glance. "Yes," Rebecca said.

"I would _never_ go over to my boyfriend's house without parental supervision," Harriet said.

Jeannie had to stuff her face in her binder to keep from laughing out loud.

Luckily, the phone rang at that moment and she was saved from Harriet's glare. Jeannie picked up the phone, hoping it was Emily calling to discuss their plans for Friday. "Hello?"

"Jeannie!" Miranda exclaimed. "Thank God you're here—I need to talk to you."

He heartbeat immediately quickened, Ignoring her mother and sisters' questioning glances, Jeannie ran up to her room and shut the door tightly. "Tell me everything, Mir," she commanded.

"Oliver and Samantha broke up today," the other girl said.

Jeannie felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. "They _did_? Who broke it off?"

"Oliver," Miranda said, her voice rising as she got more excited. "Apparently Samantha was 'moving too fast' for him."

"Oh my God!" Jeannie squealed, covering her mouth so her family wouldn't hear. "I thought only girls said that!"

"It gets better," Miranda told her. "I asked him today if he'd been talking to you, and he said no because he'd lost the contact information you'd given him. Then he asked if _I_ had it and if I'd please give it to him!"

"No way!" Jeannie gasped, unable to contain her excitement any longer. "Did you?"

"Obviously! He told me to tell you that he'd email you soon."

Jeannie had already turned on the computer.

Sure enough, there was an email waiting from Oliver.

_Jeannie, I'm sorry that I haven't tried to get in touch with you since you moved. I lost the piece of paper with your new address on it, and I had no way of getting my hands on a Gotham phone book. But Miranda gave me all your info so that shouldn't be a problem anymore._

_So how are you? Chicago's not the same with you gone. The family across the street is horrible. They have a nine-year-old boy who's an absolute demon. I had to babysit him once and ended up in the emergency room. (I'll tell you all about that later)._

_I miss you, Jeannie. I'm sorry I was so cold to you at your good-bye party, but you have to understand that things were really complicated, what with Dad dead and the funeral…I hope that you forgive me and we can talk more sometime._

_Best friends forever,_

_Oliver_

Jeannie hadn't felt this happy since she left Chicago. She wasted no time writing a reply:

_I couldn't believe it when Miranda told me what happened, Ollie. I thought I'd done something wrong and you were mad at me…I'm so glad that's not the case, though._

_Gotham is, to say the least, terrifying. I can't even leave the neighborhood without Mom and Dad freaking out. Crime is everywhere and I've only been allowed to go downtown once! I thought Chicago was bad. I'm leaving this place as soon as I can._

_Aside from that, everything is fine. I've made a new friend, Emily, and a sort-of-new friend, Jack. He's really intimidating and even though he basically saved my life last week, I'm scared of him. His face is horribly scarred and nobody will even talk to him. But he's quite funny and he says my name like you do. You know, pronouncing it_ Jean _-nie? I'm trying to get him to stop. You're the only one who's allowed to call me that, remember?_

_Speaking of calling, you have my telephone number, right? So call me sometime. I don't have much of a social life yet so I'm usually home in the evenings and on weekends. I'm trying to convince my Dad to visit Chicago in the summer, so maybe we'll see each other again then!_

_Love,_

_Jeannie_

She immediately pressed "Send", watching the icon light up with delight. So Oliver _wasn't_ angry with her after all…he'd just lost the paper she'd give him. He'd always been forgetful.

Idly, Jeannie wondered why he hadn't mentioned their kiss at her party or the fact that he had dated Samantha Douglas. But maybe he didn't want her to get jealous. They _had_ promised each other they would get married someday.

Jeannie got up and walked over to her dresser drawer. At the very bottom of an old pile of clothes lay the shattered picture frame she'd broken a week ago. She picked up the photo that had been taken almost four years ago and studied it.

She'd been with Oliver's family at the beach on a daytrip. Oliver's mother had motioned for them to pose and smile before snapping the picture. Jeannie's arms were flung around her best friend, looking tanned and freckly. She had a space between her two front teeth and strands of blonde hair stuck out from under her hat. Her blue eyes glowed in the reflection of the flash.

In contrast, Oliver looked annoyed at the picture. His dark hair looked messy under the sun's glare and his equally black eyes seemed to silently punish the photographer. His olive skin was even more tanned than usual. If Jeannie had been pressed for more information about the picture, she would have jokingly called it a balance between light and dark.

"Jeannie!" Mrs. Kerr called from downstairs. "Dinner's ready!"

"Coming!" she called back, and took one last look at the picture. "Best friends forever, Ollie," she whispered before going downstairs.

* * *

Jack had never specified an exact time when they would be meeting the next day, so Jeannie felt it was safe to show up an hour before school started.

She was eternally glad that she was the youngest in her family: with Liam at university and Rebecca and Harriet in high school, she had no siblings around at the moment. The "plan" could be potentially disastrous if someone else were to find out about it.

Jeannie found the grove of trees she had been sitting against the day before and plopped down against them, feeling the early-morning dew soak into her shoes. It was going to be a cloudy day; the sky was thick and oppressing.

Ten minutes after she had arrived, a hooded figure appeared suddenly out of the mist. Jeannie jumped up in surprise, but ended up slipping on the wet grass and falling on her face.

Jack's laughter rang out from above her. "You'll have to be more graceful than that if you want the plan to work, Jeannie."

"Shut up," she mumbled, getting to her feet and brushing the dirt off of her hands.

Jack looked even more menacing than usual with his hood pulled up. His eyes appeared black against the dark material of his sweater. "Have you kept your promise?" he asked, the grin fading away.

Jeannie nodded. "I haven't told my parents anything." _I've gone completely mental._

"Good girl," Jack said in approval. "Now, as for the plan…I have to confess something to you." He motioned her forward, and she mutely took a step towards him. Putting his mouth close to her ear, he whispered, "There isn't one."

"What?" Jeannie asked, stunned. "You told me you knew what to do!"

Jack shook his head slowly. "I know how I want it to _end._ I just don't know how it's going to be carried out yet. That's where you come in, _Jean_ -nie."

"You—you lied to me!" she spluttered. "You said you were a man of your word!"

"But as you pointed out, I'm not a man yet," Jack said. He laughed at her expression. "Calm _down,_ Jeannie. I have a rough idea of what we can do, but I don't have a _plan_. I prefer…inventing things on the spot. It's much more exciting, believe me."

"You're insane!" she gasped. "You're mental!"

"No, I'm just realistic," he replied. "Look, plans can fail. If all we have is a vague _idea_ of what we're going to do, then it will work perfectly. An _idea_ can't fail."

Jeannie rubbed her temples. "What is…the idea you have then?"

Jack lowered his hood and ran a hand through his blond curls. "Have you ever met one of your dad's coworkers?"

"He works with a sergeant named Jim Gordon, but I've never met him," Jeannie replied. "He's the only one Dad's ever mentioned."

The boy curled his lip in disappointment. "Well, then, let me explain. Your dear old dad works with none other than the sister of Carmine Falcone, the head of Gotham's crime family."

"And you know this because…?"

"God, Jeannie, if you were any slower you'd be going backwards. _Falcone?_ The mob officials my so-called father works for? His sister is a corrupt police officer. She came with your dad to investigate us."

Jeannie blinked. It seemed hard to imagine that her father worked with the head of Gotham's crime underworld.

"Her name is Carla Viti, and she helped to convince your dad that my father was innocent," Jack continued. "If _she's_ the one that turns my father in, the Falcones will be forced to go after their own sister." He grinned, satisfied with this assessment.

"You mean we'll frame her," Jeannie said.

" _Now_ you're starting to catch on."

The reality of the situation suddenly hit her. Here she was, concocting a way to frame one of Gotham's most respected police officers because a boy she'd only been talking to for a week told her that her family would be in danger otherwise.

It was completely irrational.

But then again, she certainly hadn't _imagined_ seeing Paul Napier's brutal treatment of Jack. The scars definitely were real. And he seemed to know what he was talking about. There was a certain charm about Jack that she couldn't ignore.

On the other hand, what if he was simply lying? He'd told her things that would get him in serious trouble if she decided to tell someone. He'd already lied about having a plan—what if he was lying about this as well? What if he just wanted to get her in trouble? Her parents would be so disappointed in her.

The corner of Jack's mouth twisted up as if he knew what she was thinking. "You're wondering why I'm telling you all of this, _Jean_ -nie."

She blinked, caught off guard. "Uh…yeah. I am, actually."

"Your dad is a police officer who works closely with Carla Viti," he began. "That means you'll be able to get some information on her, find out where her office is. It's _convenient,_ really. It's meant to be, Jeannie. Besides, you're the only one who will actually _help_ me. Right? You feel sorry for me."

She wasn't sure she liked where this conversation was going. "I'm not scared of you, Jack. Stop trying to intimidate me."

He looked surprised. "I'm not! I was just going to say that I like you're not scared of me. Everyone else just _ignores_ me. They think I _can't_ talk. Even if I did talk to them, they would leave as quickly as possible. And you know why?" Wordlessly, he pointed to his scars.

Jeannie was beginning to regret her earlier words; she _did_ feel intimidated now. "You're one for abrupt mood swings, I'm guessing?" she asked weakly.

Jack's smile widened. "So you _are_ smarter than you look!" Seeing her irritated expression, he wisely tried a different tack. "We're in this together now, whether you like it or not, Jeannie. You promised."

She was quiet for a long time before speaking. "When I was younger, I used to steal cookies from the cookie jar and blame it on my brother."

It sounded completely random, but Jack seemed to understand. "Go on," he said, a strange gleam in his eyes. "How did you do it?"

Jeannie finally smiled, feeling her old self rush back. "I hid the crumbs in his room."

* * *

School dragged by agonizingly slowly. Jeannie squirmed in her seat the entire day, unable to concentrate. She kept stealing glances at Jack across the room. Whenever he met her eyes, he would give her a small wink.

At recess, Emily and Jeannie walked over to the playground and sat on the swings, ignoring the younger children who played around them. "My mom says you can stay for dinner too," Emily said. "We're having pizza."

"Sure," said Jeannie absent-mindedly. "I love pizza."

Emily stopped swinging and stared at her new friend. "Are you okay, Jeannie? You seem distracted."

She shook her head. "I'm just not in the mood for school."

Emily laughed. "Since when is _anybody_ in the mood for school?"

Jeannie had to admit she had a point.

"What's going on with you and Jack Napier?" Emily asked after a few minutes of silence.

Jeannie had to laugh. "Why do you assume there's something _going on_? He likes making fun of me, that's all."

"You mean he actually _talks_?" Emily said, her eyes widening. "For as long as I've known him, he's been a loner. Everyone thinks he doesn't actually know _how_ to talk."

"Believe me, he does," Jeannie muttered.

But Emily was right: it was odd how Jack was so reserved and antisocial at school, glaring daggers at anyone who dared to approach him; but with Jeannie he was usually flippant and sarcastic. It was like he was a different person. Maybe their forest escapade and the scene she had witnessed with Paul had forced him to open up to her.

Jeannie was nearly bursting with anticipation when the last bell rang. She rushed out of the classroom and jogged over to the soccer field, her designated meeting place with Jack.

While she searched for him in the crowds of students surging out of the school, she played with the coin she'd found the week before, a habit that was fast getting addictive. She was a pro at it by now; she could flip it three feet up into the air and catch it deftly.

Jack appeared not long after. He had a huge smile on his face. "Ready, _Jean_ -nie?"

"What choice do I have?" she replied.

"That's the spirit! Now let's go." Jack pulled his hood up over his head so no one would recognize him, and the two of them set off for the police station.


	6. April 1994: Recklessness

Gotham City Police Department was in the very heart of downtown. Jeannie couldn't help but feel slightly nervous as they wove their way through the throngs of people on their way home. Most didn't give them a second look, but Jeannie was pushed, tripped, or simply shoved out of the way by a number of people. She fought to keep her eyes on Jack as he stealthily made his way down the sidewalk ahead of her. It was obvious he knew how to blend into a crowd and disappear.

Jeannie was out of breath by the time they arrived at the massive building. Jack pulled her into an alcove by the front doors. "Remember," he breathed. "All you have to do is keep your dad talking. I'll take care of the rest."

She nodded. "Are you sure this will work?"

"No," Jack said matter-of-factly. "But at least we tried, right?" He grinned lopsidedly at her before hurrying off in the opposite direction.

The plan that Jeannie had suggested was fairly straightforward: she would ask for her father and tell him that she had took a wrong turn on her way home and gotten lost. While everyone was distracted, Jack would sneak into Carla Viti's office and get her fingerprints. He would transfer them onto a top-secret document he had stolen from his father that detailed the inner workings of the Falcone crime ring, including all of the secret members. Jeannie had been more than a little bit annoyed when Jack had showed her the paper after he'd claimed he "didn't have a plan", but something told her it wasn't wise to argue that just then.

After making sure Jack was gone, she jogged up the flight of stone stairs that led to the building and opened the large glass door, feeling awkward at the amount of stares she received.

"I must be out of my mind," she whispered to herself. "I'm going along with a crazy plan that could be extremely dangerous if it's ever traced back to me, and I'm putting my trust in a boy who lied to me and who I didn't even talk to until last week."

If that wasn't living life on the edge, what was? Jeannie had always longed for a more exciting life, but _this_ exciting?

"Jeannie?" a surprised voice sounded from behind her. She caught sight of Mr. Kerr making his way toward her, a frown on his face.

"Er, hi, Dad," she said, giving him a tiny wave.

"What are you doing here?" Mr. Kerr asked. He didn't sound happy to see her.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going on the way home from school and got lost. I asked a woman on the street where the police station was because I knew you would be here." She hung her head, trying to sound guilty.

"You walked here all by yourself? Jeannie, how many times do your mother and I have to tell you that Gotham _isn't safe?_ I understand the teenage mentality that you're indestructible. But unfortunately, you aren't." Mr. Kerr took her by the shoulder and guided her toward an elevator. "I'll bring you up to my office. You'll have to wait there until I'm able to go home."

"N—no!" Jeannie exclaimed, a little bit too loudly. The whole point of the plan was _not_ to go up to the offices. "Can't you give me a tour first, or something?"

Mr. Kerr raised his eyebrows. "Unless you want to look at a hundred identical offices and the people currently in custody, I'm afraid the tour won't be very interesting. Besides, I'm not authorized to even bring people in here, least of all family. I'm pushing my luck by even letting you come with me. Now get in." He ushered her into the elevator.

There was another police officer in the elevator with them, so Mr. Kerr didn't get a chance to lecture Jeannie. She fidgeted the entire ride, hoping that it would somehow break down so Jack could execute the plan safely.

But they had no such luck. With a loud _ding_ , the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Mr. Kerr waited to let the other officer out first before he led Jeannie down a long, narrow hallway. As they approached the end, a woman came out of one of the doors. "Hello, Michael," she said, looking surprised to see Jeannie. "Who's this?"

"Jennifer Kerr, my thirteen-year-old daughter," Mr. Kerr said. "Jeannie, this is Carla Maceri, one of my coworkers."

Jeannie stifled a gasp and gingerly took the hand Carla was holding out. Aside from the steely look in her eye, which could be attributed to a typical police officer, she looked normal. She had short, coiffed blonde hair and brown eyes.

Wait…wasn't her name supposed to be Carla Viti? Then again, Jeannie supposed she couldn't exactly use her real name.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Carla said, smiling. "Well, I'm just going to go back to my office now—"

Out of the corner of her eye, Jeannie saw a flash of white. Jack was sticking his head out of Carla's office door. As Jeannie's eyes widened, he gave her a mock thumbs-up and darted back into the room.

"Dad," she said nervously, tugging at Mr. Kerr's sleeve. "I have to go to the bathroom."

Her father looked impatient. "I'm afraid you're going to have to wait, Jeannie. I don't have time—"

"I'll bring her, Michael," Carla offered. "I was just on my way downstairs to get some more coffee anyway."

Mr. Kerr nodded. "All right. Don't give her a hard time, Jeannie."

"I'll try not to," Jeannie said, relieved. Too late, she realized it was probably a poor thing to say, especially since her tone hadn't been joking in the least.

Carla didn't seem to notice, though. She'd already turned around and begun moving down the hall. Jeannie made sure her father went into his office before following his "coworker."

There was a bathroom on the floor below. Carla waited outside while Jeannie wrung her hands together and stared in the mirror. It felt like her lies were written all over her face. She gave herself a mental pep talk, trying to believe that Jack had already escaped. The two of them had agreed their meeting place was a bookstore on the opposite side of the street.

When enough time had passed, Jeannie flushed the toilet for good measure and turned the tap on to splash some cold water onto her face. Carla was tapping her foot impatiently when she came out. "Hon, do you think you could remember the way back up to your dad's office on your own?" she asked. "I just got an important message from my boss."

"Sure," Jeannie said, baffled. Carla gave her a tight smile before hurrying down to the elevators.

It took her five minutes to remember where the stairs were, and another five to find Mr. Kerr's office. Just as she was about to knock on the door, a hand grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her across the hallway. Jeannie started to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth. "Shut up, it's me!" Jack hissed.

"Jack, thank God," Jeannie breathed. "Did you do it?"

"Yeah, and I made sure there was no trace of my fingerprints either," Jack replied. They were crouching behind a large mahogany desk in the center of what Jeannie presumed was Carla's office. "The only problem is that Carmine Falcone decided to drop in for a little _visit_ today. He's posing as a security guard. He came to check on Carla's office and I think he saw me."

"I _knew_ this wasn't a good plan," Jeannie hissed. "What did you do?"

"I jumped out and wished him a great day," Jack replied, rolling his eyes at her stupidity. "I swear, Jeannie—"

"Yeah, yeah, insult me all you want later," Jeannie said. "Listen—Carla told me that she got an important message from her boss, and nearly ran away."

"Shit," Jack said matter-of-factly. "We need to get out of here."

"We?" Jeannie exclaimed. "My dad knows I'm here. You, on the other hand…"

"You're my accomplice," he replied, winking. "Besides, you wouldn't just _leave_ me, would you?"

"I'm thinking about it," she said lightly.

"Don't worry. I know a way we can leave," he told her, and walked over to the window. "Ta-da!" he exclaimed, throwing it open.

Jeannie looked down and saw a tiny ledge protruding two feet outside that wrapped around the building. Fifty stories below, the people moved like ants on the ground. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"Nope!" Jack said cheerfully. "I'll even go first if you'd like." He moved to climb out, but at that moment there was a loud, piercing alarm.

"What's that?" Jeannie demanded.

Groaning, Jack stuck his head back inside and shut the window. "It's the alarm for when a dangerous intruder has been spotted. Maybe an officer noticed Falcone."

"Let's go, then!" Jeannie said, but Jack grabbed her elbow again.

"They'll be waiting at the doors," he said. "There's no way I'd be able to get out without being caught."

"So you're dragging me down with you?" she said in disbelief. "Jack, I can't believe I even agreed to this plan, let alone—"

"Shhh," he said, and crawled back under Carla's desk again. "You'll be caught if anyone sees you coming out of here anyway."

Jeannie had to grudgingly admit he was right. She could dimly hear people chattering as they filled up the hallway. "What about my dad?"

"He probably still thinks you're with Carla," Jack said.

Reluctantly, Jeannie crawled under the desk next to him again. She noticed that there was a red tinge to his cheeks and his eyes were glowing with excitement. He wasn't just enjoying this—he _loved_ it.

"I'm going to write a book,' Jeannie muttered over the sound of the alarm. "It'll be called _The Stupidity of Jennifer Kerr: Why I Trusted An Insane Boy With My Life_."

"The title's definitely catchy," Jack agreed. "But I don't agree with the insane part."

"What do you call yourself then? A week ago, I thought you were a—" She cut herself off abruptly.

Jack, of course, knew what she had been about to say. "After spending enough time with me, _Jean_ -nie, you'll understand how I think."

Damn. He was back to using that nickname. "You know, sometimes I wonder why I even went along with this."

"There's no point in wondering," Jack told her. "Sentimentality won't get you anywhere."

"Since when did you become a philosopher?" she said derisively.

"I'm full of surprises," he replied, baring his teeth at her.

"You certainly are."

Outside, it had gone quiet. The building had probably been evacuated by now. If they were to be found…

"Ready to try that ledge now?" Jack asked.

" _No_!"

But he wasn't listening. As he moved to stand up, Jeannie unthinkingly grabbed his wrist and tried to pull him back. Jack whirled around instinctively, an angry sound in his throat. Jeannie flinched away as he lunged at her. "Stop!" she cried.

The sound of her voice seemed to halt him. Jack froze and staggered back, looking surprised.

"That's hardly a way to treat your _friend_ ," Jeannie snapped. She got up as well and brushed the dust off her clothes.

He was still looking at her oddly. "It's habit," he finally said. "When your father beats you every time you so much as look at him, you'd be prepared too."

This was a rare, off-guard moment for Jack. Jeannie shuffled awkwardly, not sure what to say. "It's all right," she mumbled.

Meanwhile, he'd reopened the window and started to climb out. "Please don't," Jeannie begged. "I'll faint if I have to follow you."

"No, you won't," Jack said. "Just don't look down."

Torn, Jeannie looked back and forth between him and the door. She could hear voices and footsteps in the distance.

"Jeannie, come on!" Jack urged. He was crouching on the ledge now, looking back at her. "Do you want to get caught by the Falcones or not?"

She sighed in defeat and walked over to him. He moved aside to give her room to crawl out. "See, there's a railing. Even if you lose your balance, you'll be fine."

The thin black bar was the only thing that separated her from a five-hundred foot drop. Jeannie had never liked heights, and was sure this wouldn't endear them to her any more. Hands trembling, she threw her legs over the sill and climbed over to the ledge. She gripped the railing so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Jack twisted around so he could shut the window behind them. "We'll have to follow the ledge around the building until we get to an open door."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Jeannie squeaked. She made the mistake of looking down at the vertical drop below. "Oh," she moaned. Spots swirled in front of her eyes and she went limp against the side of the building.

"I thought you said you _liked_ adventure," Jack muttered. "Listen, I'm not strong enough to carry you. You'll have to do this by yourself."

"I can't," Jeannie whispered. "I didn't sign up for this, Jack!"

"Look at me," he said firmly. When she didn't respond, he growled, " _Look at me, Jeannie_!"

Surprised at his angry tone, her eyes automatically opened. His face was inches from hers, his eyes penetrating. "Tell me about your family."

"W-what?"

"I said, tell me about your family. I don't know much about you other than the fact your father is a police officer." The request was so odd Jeannie just stared at him for a moment.

"Well, uh, we moved here from Chicago, where I was born," she finally said. "My mom's a psychiatrist. I have an older brother and two older sisters."

"What are their names?"

"Liam, Rebecca, and Harriet. My dad named Rebecca and I, and Mom named Liam and Harriet. That's why they sound like characters out of a nineteenth-century romance novel, and Becky and I actually have modern names." Jeannie attempted a small smirk. "Er, Liam's the oldest. He's almost nineteen. He's in his first year at Gotham University for law. I love him, but he's really bossy."

"Go on." Jack's eyes hadn't left her face.

"After Liam there's Rebecca. She's almost seventeen. She's the model of a perfect teenager—quiet, obedient and she gets perfect grades. I can't stand her."

"Yeah, she sounds terrible," Jack joked.

Jeannie smiled, pleased she could make him laugh. "Then there's Harriet. She's fifteen. Her and I don't get along at all. She's the most stuck-up, conceited jerk ever. Her boyfriend is just as bad."

"This is getting better and better," said Jack. "I envy you."

"Then, of course, there's me," Jeannie finished. She shrugged. "Not much to say about that."

"How about reckless, sarcastic, careless and annoying for starters?" Jack suggested lightly. Before she could respond, he broke their eye contact. "Now, take a look around."

Jeannie did, and gasped. They were halfway around the building without her realizing they had even moved. Jack had distracted her so she wouldn't notice their creeping around the ledge.

"How did you do that?" she demanded.

"Magicians never reveal their secrets." He turned around and opened an emergency exit door that Jeannie hadn't previously noticed. "Let's go."

She didn't need to be told twice. They crept back inside the building and rushed down the stairwell. Jeannie's shoes echoed on the metal of the stairs as they ran down countless flights to the ground.

A small door led to a hidden alleyway outside. The second they were safely out of the building, Jack gave her a high-five. "We did it!" he exclaimed.

"We don't know about that just yet," Jeannie warned. "And Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm never going along with anything that you suggest ever again."

" _My_ suggestion? _You're_ the one who invented this whole scheme!" He looked exasperated.

"You're the one who came up to me at recess yesterday and asked me how much I'd seen!"

"I had to. You would have told your dad otherwise and gotten yourself in a lot of trouble. Besides, I wouldn't have been able to frame Carla Viti." He looked at her almost admiringly. "Not many people would have gone along with this, you know."

"I know," she said smugly. "You can thank me on bended knee later."

They shared a glance and laughed in unison. A strange understanding passed between them. In just over a day, they had gone from being acquaintances to fast friends. Sometimes life worked in strange ways, and this was no exception. Jeannie felt a peculiar sense of comradeship she had previously only felt with Oliver and occasionally Miranda. She wondered if Jack had ever had a true friend before.

There were still so many mysteries to him, though. His frequent mood swings, his past, and the reason as to why he had been in the forest that one night. But those things, Jeannie figured, could wait.

"I think this is the beginning of something beautiful," she said suddenly, only half-joking.

Jack barely suppressed a snort. "Have you ever considered getting a job for Hallmark?"

"Have you ever considered becoming a comedian?" she shot back.

"Yes, I have," he said, face now perfectly straight. "It's my dream job."

"Scratch that, become an actor," Jeannie joked.

They continued to banter until she caught sight of a large group of people standing in front of the police station. Mr. Kerr was standing at the head of the crowd.

"Dad!" Jeannie called. Mr. Kerr turned to her and a look of relief spread across his face. "Dad, I was with Jack the whole time. Jack, you—" her sentence hung in the air as she looked around, confusion lacing her words.

For Jack was nowhere to be seen.


	7. April 1994: Consequence

Without saying a word, Mr. Kerr took Jeannie by the arm and dragged her to the coffee shop next door. He selected a table near the back and next to the window so he could still monitor what was happening outside.

"Explain yourself," he said, voice muted with fury.

In a halting voice, Jeannie told him everything: her mishap in the forest, Jack saving her, the scene she had witnessed with Liam, her bargain with Jack, and finally the events of that day. Her voice was hoarse and cracked by the time she had finished, but it felt good to get it off her chest.

As she was speaking, her father had turned steadily redder. By the time she had finished, he resembled a tomato. "Jeannie…" he began in a strangled tone. "You don't even _know_ Jack Napier. What if this was a plot to get _us_ in trouble? What if Jack had been lying to you about Carla? What if you had been _caught_?"

"His father was _beating_ him, Dad," Jeannie said quietly. "Why would he be on the side of someone who does that to him?" The phrase 'blood is thicker than water' crossed her mind, but she didn't want to voice it aloud and prove her father right.

"From what I found out, Paul is rarely home anyway," Mr. Kerr said. "Even if these beatings _are_ brutal, they are rare."

Well, that certainly explained Jack's flippant attitude. If he wasn't being hammered into submission every day, he was more likely to rebel. Jeannie had just happened to witness them at an unfortunate time.

"These statements you're making about Carla have very little basis as well," Mr. Kerr continued. "I'm disappointed in you, Jeannie. I know the move was hard on you, but I thought you were more mature than to trust a boy you barely knew existed until a week ago. When I questioned him about Paul, Jack was adamant that his father was innocent."

"Was his stepmother there?" Jeannie asked. "Maybe she's part of the Falcone ring as well and Jack couldn't speak freely in front of her."

Mr. Kerr sighed. "This is getting ridiculous." He stood up. "I'll have to take you home and then come back to the station."

The crowd outside had cleared by the time they left the shop. The officers were gone, but there were several cars packed haphazardly along the curb and men with television cameras were already beginning to film the area.

"What's happening?" Jeannie asked as they got into their car.

"The intruder alarm went off, but it looks like they cleared things up fairly quickly." Mr. Kerr gave her a stern look. "I won't tell anyone about what you did, but don't think this is the end of it," he warned. "And as for _your_ story, I wouldn't tell your mother or siblings anything unless you want your head bitten off. This will be between us. Do you understand?"

Jeannie nodded mutely. She felt ashamed; what had felt heroic an hour ago now felt stupid and childish. What had she been thinking?

Mr. Kerr dropped her off at home before driving off into the night. Jeannie entered the house feeling defeated.

"Jeannie! Where on earth were you?" Mrs. Kerr exclaimed, hurrying into the hallway. "It's nearly six o'clock. I was worried sick!"

"I got lost walking home from school and went to the police station to find Dad," she mumbled in reply. "Then the intruder alarm went off and we had to wait outside for a long time. Dad dropped me off and went straight back to the station. He says not to wait up for him."

"Of all the days…" Mrs. Kerr said. "I'll deal with you getting lost later. What happened at the police station?"

"It's on the news," Harriet said, coming up from behind Jeannie. Zach was with her, as usual. "Someone spotted Carmine Falcone and pulled the alarm."

"Why in the world was he at the police station?"

"Apparently one of the police officers is a double agent," Zach answered. "Falcone disguised himself as a security guard and went up to visit her. She's just been caught."

"Who was it?" Jeannie asked.

"A woman?" Zach said, shrugging. "I don't remember. I think it was Carla something."

Mrs. Kerr went straight into the living room, where the TV was announcing that a corrupt police officer had just been arrested. "Ms. Carla Maceri, thirty-eight, who has worked at the GCPD for seven years, has now been revealed to be Carla Viti, sister of mob boss Carmine Falcone and one of Gotham's most wanted. Falcone, who was also arrested, had been visiting the station that day. A document found in the office of Carla Maceri has been seized by police. It is rumored to contain forty names of Gothamites associated with the Falcones. Arrests and inquiries are currently being made. It is unclear, however, why the intruder alarm had been pulled, since Carmine Falcone admitted to pulling the alarm himself. He claims he saw a teenage boy break into Carla Maceri's office. Both Falcones were caught attempting to escape. No trace of the boy has been found. The GCPD is accepting calls and information relating to the events."

Jeannie let out a long breath. Falcone had pulled the intruder alarm in order to _catch_ Jack, but the plan had backfired on him. She hoped that, wherever Jack was, he was safe.

"Did you see any teenage boys around, Jeannie?" Mrs. Kerr asked.

"Um…no." Jeannie lied. "I didn't have much time to see anyone."

"Wasn't Carla Maceri a coworker of Dad's?" Rebecca piped up from her place on the couch.

Mrs. Kerr's eyes widened. "You're right, Becky! That must be why he went back so quickly…oh, I hope he's all right."

"Dad can handle himself," said Harriet. "Don't worry, Mom."

"I'm going upstairs," Jeannie whispered, and stole out of the room before anyone could object. Once she was safely alone, she sat down at her computer and composed an email to Oliver, telling him everything that had happened that day. But when she was finished, she couldn't hit the 'send' button. Her finger hovered over the mouse. She couldn't explain why, but something was stopping her. Perhaps she was more loyal to Jack than she thought.

Speaking of Jack, where had he gone? Jeannie hoped he had come up with a good alibi. Paul would surely notice one of his secret documents was missing. If they were lucky, he would be arrested before that happened.

* * *

The school was abuzz the next morning with talk of the arrests. Jeannie tried to avoid the other students' curious glances and questions—they knew her father was a police officer, after all. Mr. Kerr had come home well past midnight, so Jeannie hadn't had a chance to question him. In that day's paper there had been a list of the forty people who were part of the Falcone crime ring that had been arrested. Paul Napier was one of them, but Jeannie wasn't sure what that entailed. She prayed that Jack would at least show up to school—but it didn't seem likely. Everybody in her class was gossiping about him.

"I'm not surprised his father was working for the Falcones," a girl said in a carrying whisper. "He's a freak."

"Do you see the way he _looks_ at everyone?" another boy asked. "He's the creepiest person I know."

"Class, settle down," the teacher said, but it was only half-hearted. Jeannie counted to ten and took deep breaths, fighting the urge to say anything out loud. So far, only Emily had noticed their strange alliance. Jeannie hoped it would stay that way.

Luckily, the other girl appeared to have some tact. Correctly assuming Jeannie didn't want to talk about what happened, she chattered on about superficial things like the weather and clothes.

"Anyway, are you still coming over to my house on Friday?" she asked hopefully.

"Yeah, of course," Jeannie answered, but that now seemed uncertain. Her father wasn't known for his reasonable punishments.

"You'll just have to ignore Edward," Emily said. "He might scare you at first, but don't let him."

"Scare me?" Jeannie asked.

"He's very odd. He likes to talk in riddles and say things no one else understands. But he's an absolute genius." Emily shrugged in a 'Who knows?' gesture. "If you act like he doesn't exist, he'll leave you alone."

"All right." Jeannie filed away the information in the back of her mind. If he was sixteen years old and in twelfth grade, her sisters most likely knew about him. She would have to ask if they knew an Edward Nashton.

To her disappointment, but not to her surprise, Jack never showed up that day. When she arrived home, Mr. Kerr was already waiting for her. He told her that Paul Napier was safely behind bars, but his chilling last words had been "I'll get that little son of a bitch if it's the last thing I do"—referring to Jack. He had known exactly who framed Carla, but the police wouldn't press charges against a minor.

"What about the stepmother?" Jeannie asked. "Marissa or whoever."

"Marissa confessed that Paul did abuse both her and Jack. He supposedly threatened that if she ever tried to leave or tell the police what he was doing, he would kill her. She's been terrified to even leave the house until now."

"Are they going to take the case to court?"

Mr. Kerr shook his head. "The police want the arrests to be quick and clean. They'll only permit trials for the more 'serious' cases."

"But this _is_ serious!" Jeannie protested.

"Not in their opinion." Mr. Kerr fixed her with a steely-eyed look. "Now, I know Jack wasn't at school today. When I visited the Napiers' house, I spoke to him."

"You did?"

"Yes. He appears to be very grateful for your role in all of this." Her father hesitated. "He also… _apologizes_ if he scared you."

"He doesn't really mean it," Jeannie said. "He was just trying to get on your good side."

"Nevertheless, I _am_ going to keep a very close eye on both of you from now on. I know you, Jeannie. I know that you're very headstrong. You thought of this as one huge game."

"I didn't—"

"—But one day you'll learn that it's _not_. You can't blindly trust a boy you barely know, no matter what you see happening to him." Mr. Kerr was in full "police officer" mode.

Jeannie sighed. "How many times will I have to hear this lecture?"

"Oh, about thirty more. You'll be doing community service hours for the next month with me. Don't think of it as a punishment—think of it as expanding your horizons."

Well, it _could_ be worse.

* * *

Jack cornered her at school the following day. Despite all of the whispers and rumors that had erupted the second he walked in the classroom, he seemed his usual self. While Jeannie was waiting for Emily to finish soccer practice, Jack sidled up to her and casually blocked her way.

"Missed me?" he asked, smirking.

Jeannie looked closely at him. His stance was now relaxed and open. He wasn't hunched over any more, and the haunted look in his eyes was gone. "Oh, yes," she said once she had gotten over the initial shock. "I could barely function yesterday. Ask anyone."

"I'm flattered," he grinned. "Did your dad tell you what happened?"

"He said that your father was arrested and your stepmother confessed to his—uh—physical abuse."

"Is that all?" Jack looked mildly surprised. "Anyway, I _am_ disappointed in you, _Jean_ -nie. I thought I told you not to tell anyone about our little adventure."

"I had no other choice!" she argued. "I wasn't going to lie to my dad any more."

"Aren't you? So when he asks you if you finished your homework, you'll tell him yes? Or when you buy new clothes you'll tell him they were on sale?"

Jeannie fidgeted under his intense gaze. "That's not the same," she finally said. "You misunderstood me."

"Don't I?" he countered. "I know you better than you think I do, Jeannie."

"What is it with everyone saying they _know_ me?" she exclaimed, frustrated. "First my dad, now you…a week ago we hadn't said ten words to each other!"

"Near-death situations give you an excellent understanding of people," Jack replied. "Believe me."

"What's your point, Mr. Philosopher?"

"Like I said before, after you spend enough time with me you'll understand how I think," he answered, glancing over at something in the distance. "Here comes your friend. See you later, _Jean_ -nie."

"Just don't keep sneaking up on me!" she called after him.

Jack stopped and turned around. "How about we make those trees over there our, ah, designated meeting place?" He pointed to the cluster of trees where Jeannie often sat. Before she could answer, he was gone.

Jeannie stared at the spot where he had disappeared, realizing that she and Jack Napier had become friends without either of them planning on it.

* * *

Rebecca drove her over to Emily's house on Friday evening, promising to pick her up sometime before midnight. Jeannie sarcastically thanked her for being so detail-oriented before ringing the doorbell.

The Nashtons lived on the other side of Gotham Estates, closer to the downtown core. Here, the houses were noticeably larger and the cars flashier. Jeannie felt awkward in her sweater and jeans as men in business suits and women in designer clothing walked down the street.

Emily opened the door a minute later. Jeannie barely had time to blink before a huge black shape appeared out of nowhere, knocking her to the ground. She tumbled head over heels down the steps before coming to a painful stop on the lawn.

"Apollo, sit!" Emily cried, rushing over to her. "Bad dog! I'm so sorry, Jeannie. Are you all right?"

Jeannie slowly got to her feet. She was sore and bruised in several places, but she didn't appear to be bleeding. "I think so." Now her clothes were covered with grass and dirt. She looked even scruffier.

"That was just my crazy dog Apollo," Emily explained. She was holding on to the collar of an enormous, shaggy black dog, whose tail wagged excitedly as it tried to lick Jeannie. "He's harmless, he really is."

"It's fine," Jeannie assured her. She hesitantly reached out to pat Apollo, who in return slobbered all over her hand.

"At least you're not scared of dogs. Do you have any pets?" Emily asked as they walked back up to the house.

"No. We used to have fish, but after a while they ate each other," Jeannie said ruefully. "My family is too busy to look after a pet right now. I'd love a dog, though." She looked longingly at Apollo.

Emily's house wasn't lavishly decorated or over-the-top, but it was obvious the Nashtons had money. The entryway itself was larger than Jeannie's bedroom. She couldn't help but feel embarrassed at her previous assumption that her family lived in one of the richest areas of Gotham Estates.

Apollo bounded off, and Emily led her upstairs and down a hallway into the kitchen. A picture window looked down into a backyard complete with a pool and patio. The appliances gleamed with cleanliness. Jeannie felt horribly out of place.

"I already have all the ingredients and—" Emily stopped and glared at a figure sitting at the table, who Jeannie hadn't previously noticed. "Get out, Edward!" she snapped. "I thought I told you not to bother us."

The person sitting at the table raised his head. He looked to be Rebecca's age. He had messy brown hair and green eyes like Emily, but with no friendly air about him. "What's a five-letter synonym for danger?" he asked, looking directly at Jeannie.

She frowned, disliking being put on the spot. "Uh…peril?" she finally guessed.

A thin smile appeared on his face. "You're lucky I gave you an easy one," he remarked, before getting up and tucking a book of crossword puzzles under his arm. "See you around."

Emily sighed in relief once he had gone. "That's Edward, as I'm sure you've noticed. Don't worry—he makes every guest answer a question when they first arrive. If they get it right, he'll accept them as an equal."

"What if they don't?" Jeannie asked.

"He'll completely ignore their presence." Emily rolled her eyes. "It's actually preferable. You'll wish you'd gotten it wrong once he starts in on you."

"My sisters say he won't talk to anyone at school unless they talk to him first," Jeannie said. She didn't add that they'd also dubbed him "weird" and a "freak".

"He's been diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder and obsessive-compulsive disorder," Emily said. "He just started taking pills and seems to be getting a bit better."

"My mom's a psychiatrist," Jeannie offered. "Maybe she can help him."

Emily grinned. "Thanks for not running away, Jeannie. All my other friends refuse to come here because they're all scared of him."

"He's not that bad," Jeannie said, though she was sure a week ago she would have thought differently. Making friends with Jack certainly had changed her opinion on what "weird" was.

* * *

While they were waiting for the cookies to bake, Jeannie mustered up the nerve to ask Emily the pressing question she had wanted to ask since she had arrived. "What happened when Jack brought a knife to school?"

Emily paused before answering. "Well, I've known him since first grade—he had his scars even then. The teachers were scared of him and the other children avoided him. He never talked and had no friends. Somehow the teachers' fear affected us and we were scared of him as well. Nobody dared to make fun of him until last year."

Jeannie remembered her saying Jack had been bullied. "Were they new students?"

Emily nodded. "Listen, no one has the exact story, and I only know this much because my mom is friends with the principal."

"I thought you said you didn't know anything," Jeannie pointed out.

"Not until three days ago, when I asked my mom what the principal had told her. Anyway, at the beginning of last year, a group of boys all ganged up together and followed Jack home after school, yelling 'Scarface'. One of them—I think his name was Bobby—attacked him. Jack apparently fought back and broke Bobby's nose. Then the next day he brought a knife to school. He was really obvious about it too—he had it on his desk and walked around with it at recess. One of the teachers noticed and sent him to the office. He said that he was just trying to protect himself and told the principal what had happened. She called in the boys who had followed him home. One named Randy supposedly insulted Jack. He attacked him with the knife. After that, Randy's face was permanently scarred."

Jeannie's eyes widened. "So Jack was suspended?"

"Yeah, but only for a week. The teachers were nervous that Mr. Napier would complain. They suspected he worked for the Falcones anyway. So that's why nobody was surprised when he was arrested."

"And everyone still thinks Jack carries a knife around?"

"Mm-hm. People still make fun of him, but only behind his back. They're too afraid to insult him to his face."

Jeannie digested this information before turning back to Emily. "What happened to Bobby and Randy?"

"All of the boys who were involved in the bullying disappeared. Nobody's seen or heard of them since."

So Jack _was_ dangerous. Jeannie remembered when he had teased her about thinking he carried a knife. She wondered if her apprehension had been justified after all.

"I guess I can kind of see his appeal," Emily said, breaking the silence. "He's definitely mysterious and girls love that. Plus, he would be good-looking if he didn't have those scars…" She trailed off, lost in contemplation.

"Em, it's not like that," Jeannie replied. "We're friends, I guess you can call it that, but he's not my type."

"Oh, right," said Emily. "I forgot you have another crush back in Chicago. What was his name? Oliver something?"

"Oliver Hammet," Jeannie answered. "And yeah, I guess you could say he's my crush." She continued to talk about Oliver, but the back of her mind was still focused on Jack. She couldn't help but wonder if she and the quick-witted, daring boy were more alike than she had first imagined. Perhaps they were even more alike than her and Oliver…if that was possible.


	8. August 1994: Innocence

**Four Months Later**

**August 1994**

"Ladies and gentlemen, we will be landing at Gotham City International Airport in approximately ten minutes. Please ensure your seats are in the upright position and your seatbelts are fastened correctly. The current temperature in Gotham is eighty-five degrees."

Jeannie sat back in her seat and watched the city skyline grow nearer as the plane descended. She felt a peculiar sense of homecoming. It unnerved her, since she had just _left_ Chicago, the place she had always thought of as "home".

The Kerrs had spent the summer at a beach resort on Lake Michigan, just outside of Chicago. As soon as she had gotten the chance, Jeannie had begged her father to take her to their old neighborhood. Mr. Kerr had revisited their old house while Jeannie made a beeline for Oliver's. To her disappointment, they hadn't been home. The neighbors told them that the Hammets had gone on vacation in Hawaii and wouldn't be back until September. Jeannie had been distraught, since she hadn't heard back from Oliver in three months. They had been emailing regularly when all of a sudden Oliver had stopped replying. Jeannie had tried calling him and asking Miranda what had happened, but all she gave were vague answers. Something deeper than just "forgetting contact information" was going on, but it was beyond Jeannie to figure out what.

It had been nice to be in Chicago, but Jeannie couldn't help feeling happy at returning to Gotham as well. She had grown quite fond of the city since the move eight months ago. It was a living example of extreme contrasts: millionaires living next to the homeless; skyscrapers just around the corner from rundown buildings; mansions near ghettos. The entire concept fascinated Jeannie. Besides, it was so _easy_ to get lost in the endless sea of faces one faced on a daily basis: with a population of ten million, Gotham was one of the largest cities in the world.

"Mom, I'm hungry," Harriet complained. Jeannie glanced over at her sister, who was scowling as usual. Harriet had never been the easiest person to live with, but over the summer she had become absolutely unbearable. She'd refused to do anything fun and spent most of her time locked up in the bedroom she had shared with Rebecca. "Zach" had been her constant refrain. Jeannie could tell her parents were worried. Harriet had gained weight as well; she barely fit into any of her clothes. Even though Jeannie pretended to hate her sister, she was genuinely concerned.

"You just ate lunch, though!" Mrs. Kerr said from across the aisle, exasperated. "Fine. I'll get something when the food trolley comes by again."

The plane dipped sharply, and Harriet clapped a hand to her mouth. "I'm gonna puke," she declared, and leapt out of her seat to run to the bathroom. Jeannie could only hope it was currently vacant.

"Do you think this means she's not hungry anymore?" Liam asked, and smirked. Jeannie high-fived him. Even Rebecca grinned from behind her book.

"Guys, it's not funny," Mrs. Kerr said. "I'm taking her to the doctor as soon as we get settled back in."

"You should have done that years ago," Jeannie quipped.

Liam laughed out loud. "Good one, sis!" he crowed. Ever since he had started dating one of his fellow classmates, he had mellowed out to the point where Jeannie could actually have a decent conversation with him.

"Thanks," she said happily, pretending not to notice Mr. Kerr's irritated look.

When Harriet came back, her face was tinged with green and she was wobbly on her feet. "Don't get too close to me," she warned.

"Oh, we try not to," Rebecca muttered. Liam and Jeannie shook with laughter.

Suddenly, Harriet's face crumpled and she began to cry. "Stop being so rude!" she hiccupped. "What did I ever _do_?"

Jeannie's mouth was open, fully prepared to answer _Lots of things_ , but the look on Harriet's face made her fall silent. Mrs. Kerr switched seats with Rebecca so she could comfort her. Harriet sobbed into her mother's shoulder while Liam, Jeannie and Rebecca all exchanged looks. What was wrong with her?

* * *

As soon as they got home, Harriet ran straight upstairs to vomit again. Liam went to visit his girlfriend Susan. Rebecca disappeared into her room. Jeannie was left standing awkwardly in the living room. She sat down on the couch and was about to turn on the television when she heard her parents' low, frantic voices drifting in from the kitchen.

Never one to miss out on an eavesdropping opportunity, Jeannie stood up and crept to the door of the kitchen to listen. It sounded like her father was pacing back and forth.

"…never been like this before. It only started a month ago."

"Yes, and that's _exactly_ why I want to take her to the doctor. I'm sure I know what it is."

"You do?" Mr. Kerr stopped pacing.

"I knew what was going on the first time she complained about gaining weight." Mrs. Kerr sounded incredibly tired.

"What is it, then? It's not a normal illness."

"It's not, Michael. She's pregnant."

There was a ringing silence. Jeannie held her breath.

" _Pregnant_?" Mr. Kerr burst out. " _Harriet_?"

"Think about it! It all makes sense. She was spending even more time with Zach before we left, remember? A month after she'd last seen him, she began gaining weight and was sick in the mornings."

"For the love of God, Victoria!" Mr. Kerr yelled. "She's fifteen! _Fifteen_! I hadn't even had a girlfriend yet when I was fifteen!"

"Keep your voice down," Mrs. Kerr urged. "She doesn't need any more stress."

"I'm going to ask her right now," Mr. Kerr announced. Jeannie quickly drew back, but the door never opened.

Instead she found herself staring up into Harriet's livid face. "You little rat," she hissed. "Why are you eavesdropping on things that have nothing to do with you?"

"I didn't hear anything," Jeannie lied. "Besides, what do _you_ care? Did Zach forget about you or something?"

"Shut _up_ ," her sister snapped. "Of course… _you_ wouldn't understand…wandering around all the time with your scrawny little friend…"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jeannie said hotly.

"Girls, calm down!" Mrs. Kerr hurried into the hallway. "Harriet, that was uncalled for. Jeannie, stop provoking your sister."

"I'm not," protested Jeannie. "I was just asking her a question. Or am I not allowed to do that anymore?"

"Mom, get her _out_!"

Before Mrs. Kerr could react, Jeannie ducked past them and hurried out the front door. "I'll be back in time for dinner!" she called. With the conversation that was about to take place, she didn't want to be anywhere _near_ her house for a while.

A light, drizzling rain had started by the time she got to the cluster of trees where she always went when she needed to escape. It was her and Jack's "designated meeting place", as he had once called it. The two of them had spent hours here after school just simply talking.

She had been friends with him for four months, but sometimes Jeannie felt as if she still didn't know who Jack Napier _really_ was. She was usually the one talking. Jack was an excellent listener—when he wasn't making snide remarks or cracking jokes. He didn't seem to take anything she said seriously, which annoyed her. But he was smart enough to know when to laugh and when to stay silent. Jeannie had the peculiar sense that he knew her better than she knew herself.

Of course, she had tried to get Jack to open up on more than one occasion. It had never worked. Jack hated talking about his home life and his past. All she had managed to get from him was that his mother had died when he was five and he loathed his stepmother. However, with his father currently in jail he had nowhere else to live. Marissa didn't abuse him, but he rarely spent time at home. There had been many instances when Jeannie had been idly taking a walk around the elementary school property and Jack had appeared out of nowhere. He loved scaring her.

Jeannie wondered how he had been over the summer. She hadn't seen him for two months and missed him. Before she'd left, she had suggested they write letters to each other. However, Jack had scoffed at the idea and she'd reluctantly dropped the topic.

Emily had also become a close friend to Jeannie. Even though Jeannie couldn't bring herself to tell her all the things she told Jack, the brown-haired girl was nevertheless a trustworthy person. Jeannie had gone over to her house several times, and Edward hadn't bothered her at all. Meanwhile, Emily loved Jeannie's crazy family.

That was something Jack hadn't done yet: gone over to her house. Jeannie had offered many times, but Jack always refused. She wondered if it had something to do with her father. Mr. Kerr often checked in on Jack and his stepmother. Jeannie could tell he was bothered by this even if he didn't admit it.

As the rain started to fall harder, Jeannie settled down into a small crook between two of the trees. It was just large enough for her to squeeze into and offer shelter from the rain.

The wind whistling through the trees had a calming effect. Jeannie felt her eyes slowly closing and her body relaxed—

"Back already?"

Her eyes flew open and she nearly fell out of the tree. A tall blond figure stood in front of her, laughing. "Jack! Don't ever do that again!"

He pulled himself up onto the nearest branch and grinned down at her. "I didn't do anything, _Jean_ -nie."

She willed her heart to slow down. "What are you doing here anyway? I never told you when I was coming back."

"I was going to get some groceries when I saw you," Jack answered. "There's nothing at home except for ketchup and beer."

Jeannie laughed. She wanted to ask why his stepmother couldn't go shopping, but decided that it would probably be in her best interest not to.

"So, how was Chicago?" Jack asked. "Did you see your little boyfriend?" For some reason, he enjoyed making fun of Oliver. His eyes would darken whenever Jeannie would mention his name.

"No, I didn't see _Oliver_ at all. He was on vacation. I was mostly with my family anyway. Harriet's pregnant, by the way."

Jack burst out laughing. "You hate her though, right? Why aren't you happy about it?"

Jeannie shrugged. "I don't _hate_ her. She's my sister. I guess I feel sorry for her more than anything else. I don't know how her boyfriend is going to take it."

"Probably not very well." Jack chuckled.

"How was your summer?" Jeannie questioned, turning the tables on him.

Almost instantly, his smile disappeared. "It was fine."

"Just fine?" she prodded.

He gave a noncommittal jerk of the head. "I thought we were talking about you, Jeannie."

"Not anymore," she responded. An idea suddenly popped up in her head. "Let's play Truth or Dare."

He rolled his eyes but didn't complain.

"Who's going first?" she asked.

"You," he replied. "So, Truth or Dare?"

"Truth." Jack's dares were usually ridiculous; like trying to climb on the school roof or carve rude messages into trees.

He licked his lips, a common habit of his, before asking: "What do you hate the most about other people?"

"When they go back on their word," she said instantly.

Jack swung himself up onto a branch closer to Jeannie's. "Has anyone ever done that to you?"

Jeannie narrowed her eyes. "The game is Truth or Dare, not Truth or Dare and Explain."

He sighed. "All right. Go ahead."

"Truth or Dare?"

"Truth," he said after several seconds of thought.

Jeannie was surprised: he had never picked Truth before. She would have to be careful about what she asked. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"A comedian," he replied.

She froze before bursting out laughing. "You—I thought you said—maybe you really _should_ be a comedian, Jack, because that was a good joke!"

"I wasn't joking," he said gravely.

Jeannie stopped laughing as she realized he really _was_ serious. Jack _did_ have a good sense of humour, but he wasn't exactly a class clown. He had mentioned the profession once before, but she hadn't known he was telling the truth. He rarely talked around anyone else. "Well, you should follow your dreams," she finally said.

He snorted. "Really, Jeannie? Could you get any more cliché?"

"What? It's true."

There was a short silence, and then Jack asked, "Truth or Dare?"

"I think you can guess by now which one I'm going to pick."

Jack leapt off his branch and landed neatly on the ground below. Jeannie tried to copy him, but only ended up landing with a loud squelch in a pile of mud. Even though it was only late August, the leaves were already starting to change colors. "What's your biggest secret?" Jack asked.

"Getting a bit personal, aren't we?" she challenged.

"Answer it."

" _You_ wouldn't answer it if I asked you, so why do I have to?"

Jack's eyes met hers. "You don't know that, because you've never asked me."

Jeannie groaned and looked away. "During my goodbye party just before we moved here, I kissed Oliver. There you go."

"That's it?" Jack sounded disappointed. "No murders? No thievery?"

" _No_ , Jack," Jeannie said, half-smiling. "I've never broken the law in my life."

"Except for last April when we carried out our little plan," he pointed out. "Well, looks like I'll have to change that, _Jean_ -nie."

Something about the look in his eye made her want to change the subject as quickly as possible. "Truth or Dare?" she asked.

Jack crossed his arms over his chest. "Truth. Again."

"Will we be friends forever?"

"Yeah, sure," he said noncommittally, shrugging.

"You promise?"

He smirked. "Cross my heart and hope to die, no matter what, as long as we both shall live—"

"Okay, I get the picture," Jeannie interrupted. "It's just that Oliver and I made that promise a hundred times and I don't think we're friends anymore."

"So why are you asking me?" Jack countered. "Am I more trustworthy than Ollie boy?"

She frowned. "Don't call him that. You're opposites, that's all."

He grinned mischievously. "I won't break your little heart, don't worry."

"I hate it when you make fun of me," Jeannie muttered. She lunged at him, but he was faster.

"Come on, Jeannie! Is that all you've got?" he taunted.

She sprinted after him, nearly slipping in a wet puddle.

Thirty feet ahead of her, Jack pretended to yawn. "Don't be such a _girl_!"

Using all the strength in her legs, Jeannie ran as fast as she could towards him. Just when he was within arm's reach, she really _did_ trip. She fell onto him, sending them both crashing to the ground.

"I'm sorry!" Jeannie instantly apologized. "I didn't mean to do that."

In retaliation, he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her into the nearest clump of mud. She shrieked in surprise and attempted to get to her feet. Jack pinned her back down, laughing gleefully. They were both soaked and covered in dirt and slime. Mrs. Kerr would be furious—Jeannie had just bought her outfit the day before.

But somehow, sitting there laughing and play fighting with Jack, she couldn't bring herself to care.


	9. November 1994: Change

**Three Months Later**

**November 1994**

She'd failed the math test. She just knew it.

From the moment she'd walked into the classroom, there had been a horrible feeling of dread hovering around her. That feeling only intensified when she looked at the test and saw a page covered with indecipherable numbers. There was no way anything rational could have come from her scribbled solutions.

But when the teacher handed back the tests, he actually smiled at her—a rare thing. With sweating palms, she flipped over her test and saw the word _Excellent!_ scribbled across the top.

She had gotten perfect. Math was now her new favorite subject.

"Jeannie, wake up!"

Why was it that the best dreams were always interrupted, but nightmares seemed to stretch on forever? Jeannie's heart sank as she realized that it had all been a dream. Just a stupid dream.

"God, are you deaf?" a voice hissed from beside her. "I said wake up!"

Great. It was the last person she wanted to see when she opened her eyes. "Go 'way, Harriet," Jeannie mumbled, throwing an arm over her face. "It's _Saturday_."

"I don't care! I need your help."

Wearily, Jeannie opened one eye. Harriet was standing over her bed, fully dressed. The clothes she wore were striking and skintight—leaving no doubts about her pregnancy.

Jeannie slowly sat up, frowning. This was a radical contrast to the loose-fitting maternity clothes her sister had taken to wearing. "What do you want?" she asked suspiciously.

"I need you to come with me as a decoy," Harriet said. "Zach still hasn't told his parents about me being pregnant. I'm going to go to Wayne Enterprises today and _show_ his father exactly what happened. Besides, Zach has a part-time job there making coffee for all the important business executives that visit Gotham."

"Can't they make their own coffee?" Jeannie asked.

Harriet rolled her eyes. "That's not the point. Anyway, if I go there today, I'll completely humiliate Zach. That's what he gets for breaking up with me." She sounded smug.

"So where do I fit in all of this?"

"Mom and Dad won't let me leave the house unless I have someone with me. If I tell them you and I are just going to the mall, they won't suspect a thing."

Jeannie reluctantly climbed out of bed and went over to her closet. "I don't know, Harriet. We'll be in a lot of trouble afterwards."

"You won't. It's my idea. I don't care how they punish me anyway. I've already been punished enough." She glanced down at her engorged stomach. "Besides, Liam and Becky wouldn't help me."

"Fine, but you owe me twenty dollars."

Jeannie was only joking, but Harriet nodded seriously. "I'll give you forty if it ends well."

"Deal," Jeannie agreed. After all, who was she to turn down money?

* * *

The gray November sky loomed ominously over Gotham as Jeannie and Harriet made their way to Wayne Tower. Jeannie kept looking over at her sister, nervous she was going to have one of her frequent bouts of morning sickness, but she seemed to be fine.

Harriet's pregnancy hadn't been an easy one so far. After the doctor had confirmed the diagnosis, she'd become quiet and depressed. When school had started, Harriet had only attended for two weeks before the constant bullying and taunting forced her to drop out. Mrs. Kerr had hired a tutor to homeschool her for the rest of the year.

Things had only gotten worse when Zach had found out. He had promptly broken up with Harriet and refused to speak to any of the Kerrs. Scared that Mr. Kerr would become angry if he knew the truth, Harriet had lied and told her parents that she had broken up with Zach. Jeannie had been surprised at her sister's selflessness until she realized that it was only being done so as to avoid the law becoming involved.

But the worst blow had come three weeks previously, when Harriet discovered she was having twins. There was no history of twins in the Kerr family, so the gene must have come from Zach's side. The ultrasound had revealed that the fetuses were both girls. Harriet had made the decision to give them up for adoption once they were born and let their adoptive parents name them. Jeannie knew that her sister wanted everything to be as impersonal as possible, but she still couldn't help feeling a twinge of pity every time she looked at Harriet.

"There's no way I'm walking all the way there," the older girl complained as soon as the tower came into view. "Can we take the monorail?"

"Sure," said Jeannie absent-mindedly. She had just caught sight of a familiar hooded figure walking ahead of them. "Jack!" she called, breaking into a jog.

He turned around and she felt her heart kick into overdrive. For the past month she'd started feeling different around Jack—nervous and more self-conscious. She was confused as to why she had suddenly started feeling that way, but she knew that some things were best not to question.

"What are you doing here, _Jean_ -nie?" he asked as she jogged up to him. "It's a little bit early for you to be out, don't you think?"

"Harriet is dragging me to see her ex-boyfriend," Jeannie replied, turning around to wave at her sister still huffing and puffing toward them. "She wants to publicly embarrass him."

Jack grinned widely, his scars stretching out to give him an even more grotesque appearance. "Is that something _you_ would ever do, Jeannie?"

"Yeah, probably," she said, shrugging. "It would be fun."

"Remind me not to get on your bad side, then," he laughed. Jeannie was about to ask what that meant when he turned around and hurried down an alleyway. She was left wondering what on earth he was doing. He had a talent for disappearing.

"Wasn't that your friend?" Harriet asked when she had finally caught up.

"Yeah. Jack."

"He's weird. Why doesn't he ever come over to our house anyway?" she continued. "Plus those scars make him look creepy. When I told you to make some new friends in Gotham, I didn't mean people like _him_."

"When I told you to get a life, I didn't mean _literally_." Jeannie nodded pointedly at Harriet's stomach.

"You're such a little bitch," she snapped and shoved Jeannie with her elbow. "Sometimes I wish you weren't my sister."

 _I_ always _wish you weren't my sister_ , Jeannie thought wistfully. _But you are, and I have to love you for it._

* * *

After a short monorail ride, they found themselves at the entrance to Wayne Tower, the tallest building in Gotham. Jeannie couldn't see the roof even if she craned her neck. "Imagine the elevator broke down and you had to take the stairs all the way up," she mused. "Wouldn't that be horrible? Uh…Harriet?"

Her sister was pointing excitedly at the front doors. "It's Bruce Wayne!" she breathed. "You know, the billionaire orphan?"

Jeannie followed her gaze to where a swarm of photographers were furiously snapping pictures of a figure dressed in a long black coat. She didn't know much about Bruce Wayne, other than that his parents had been killed when he was eight and he went to a rich private school on the other side of Gotham. From the blurry pictures she had seen in the tabloids, he looked to be about her age.

"He's going inside!" Harriet exclaimed. "This is perfect! Zach and his father will definitely be there."

"That's great, but how exactly are _we_ going to get in?" Jeannie pointed out. "This is a stupid idea, Harriet. Why can't you just go over to Zach's house and tell his father what happened there?"

"I want to make this as painful for Zach as possible," Harriet said. "Don't worry, I'm not planning to crash a meeting or anything like that. I'll just ask to speak to him alone."

Jeannie didn't see any logic whatsoever in that explanation, but kept her mouth shut. Mrs. Kerr had once told her never to argue with a pregnant woman.

The photographers started to clear away as soon as Bruce Wayne disappeared, making it easy for Harriet and Jeannie to sneak inside. They were met with an elaborate lobby that was paneled with plush couches and chairs. Expensive-looking artwork hung on the walls and everyone was dressed in crisp business suits. Jeannie felt as if she had stepped into a parallel universe.

"Can I help you?" a clipped female voice asked from behind them. Jeannie turned around to see a tall, serious-looking woman staring disapprovingly at them. Her lip curled as she took in Harriet's appearance.

"I'm looking for Mr. Philip Collingwood and his son, Zach," Harriet answered, meeting the woman's cool gaze. "I believe they work here."

"Are you relatives?" the woman said.

"No, but I know Zach _personally_ ," Harriet replied, and placed a hand on her belly.

The implication was enough. The woman nodded and said, "Very well. I shall let them know you are here," before walking off.

"That went better than I hoped," Harriet whispered to Jeannie. "Now go away before they come back."

"What?" Jeannie hissed. "You brought me here for nothing?"

"Like I said before, you were just a decoy for Mom and Dad. Go wait outside or something. I won't be long."

Shaking her head in disbelief, Jeannie began to walk toward the door. What was it with her and going along with insane plans? First the police station and now Wayne Enterprises. Then again, she supposed, Harriet wanted to make everything as theatrical as possible. She could understand that.

A bitterly cold wind assailed Jeannie as soon as she stepped outside again. Shivering, she huddled under the overhang near the entrance, wishing that Harriet would come out soon. How long did it take to tell someone you were pregnant anyway?

After what felt like an eternity, the front doors opened again. Jeannie stepped forward hopefully, but it turned out to be just a huddled figure hurrying out of the building. As they passed her, a scarf fell out of their pocket onto the ground in front of Jeannie. "Excuse me!" she called as she bent to pick it up. "You forgot your—"

"Thanks," a voice whispered in her ear as she straightened up. She jumped as she saw the person was already standing beside her. "But you can keep it if you want."

The voice was younger than she expected. Jeannie felt her heart skip a beat in surprise and attraction as she locked eyes with the most handsome boy she had ever seen. He had wavy dark hair and a sheepish smile. "You're Bruce Wayne," she said stupidly.

His smile grew. "Yeah, I am."

"You weren't inside there for long," Jeannie said, then mentally smacked herself for saying it. She sounded like a stalker.

But Bruce's easy smile only grew wider. "I try not to be."

Jeannie twirled his scarf around her neck, blushing ten shades of red. "I'm Jennifer Kerr," she quickly introduced herself. "But you can call me Jeannie."

He held out a hand. "I'm Bruce Wayne."

Normally she would have replied with a sarcastic comment, but her brain seemed to be working slower than normal. "It's, uh, nice to meet you. I'm just waiting for my sister. She needs to talk to one of the coffee boys—I mean, her boyfriend serves coffee to all the businessmen. Actually, he's not her boyfriend anymore…" She continued babbling on until Bruce laughed.

"How about we go to that café across the street and wait for her?" he asked. "It will be warmer there. That is, if you want to."

"I'd love to!" Jeannie nearly yelled. She hated herself for sounding so starstruck. She hadn't cared about Bruce Wayne until she'd seen how good-looking he was.

"Is your father Michael Kerr, the policeman?" he asked as they walked down the street. "I read about him in the newspaper last week when they ran that article on the Gotham police force."

"Yes, he is," Jeannie said, feeling proud. "In fact, he helped arrest some of Falcone's men…" She trailed off as Bruce's gaze focused on something approaching them.

There was a group of ragged-looking men smoking cigarettes coming straight towards them. Smirks appeared on their faces almost instantly. "If it isn't Bruce Wayne, the _fucking_ prince of Gotham! _"_ one said and spat on the ground. "What a fucking joke."

Bruce ignored them and tried to walk around the group, but another man stopped him. "What are you doing, huh?" he asked. "Taking your little girlfriend to a fancy restaurant that your family owns?"

 _Where are the paparazzi when you need them_? Jeannie thought nervously. She took a step closer to Bruce and her eyes fell on a familiar face standing near the back of the crowd. Her eyebrows raised in shock as she recognized Jack. What was he doing there?

"Get out of our way," Bruce said angrily. The men only laughed. Jeannie shot a pleading glance at Jack, but he avoided her gaze. Why wasn't he doing anything?

The man who appeared to be the leader took a menacing step toward them. So quickly she didn't see it happen, Bruce's arm shot out and he punched the man in the face. Swearing loudly, the leader stumbled back.

"Come on!" Bruce urged. He grabbed her arm and pulled her away. They didn't stop running until they were safely in the café.

Jeannie's heart was pounding madly. "Where did you learn to punch like that?" she asked breathlessly.

Bruce shrugged. "I've taken martial arts since I was young. Listen, Jeannie, I am so sorry. That wasn't exactly a good first impression."

"It's fine," she said. "This is Gotham, after all."

He continued to apologize, but now she was barely listening. Jack had just stood there while the other men had been threatening them. What if they hadn't been able to run away? What would he have done then?

Bruce ordered two hot chocolates, refusing to let Jeannie pay. "It's the least I can do after what just happened," he said.

So Jeannie sipped on the steaming liquid while she surveyed the boy sitting across from her. She found herself unconsciously comparing him to Jack. Bruce was handsome in the movie-star, model way while Jack was handsome in a rugged, rawer sort of way. Bruce's face was pale and flawless while Jack's scars disfigured his. Bruce's brown eyes were kind and only slightly arrogant, while Jack's eyes were unnerving and detached. For a split second, Jeannie could see Jack in the way Bruce narrowed his eyes. But then she blinked and the illusion disappeared.

"So, what business does your sister have with her ex-boyfriend?" Bruce asked. "Does she need to speak with one of the agents here?"

"What? Oh—no, it's not like that," said Jeannie. "She, um, has a taste for the theatrical."

Bruce looked bemused. "What do you mean?"

But she never got to answer, because at that moment Harriet burst into the café, red-faced and flustered. "Let's go, Jeannie!" she announced loudly.

The other customers looked on curiously as Jeannie slowly sank down in her seat. Bruce frowned as he took in the scene. "That's your sister?" he asked Jeannie. She nodded mournfully.

"I can't believe I ever dated that jerk," Harriet said as she stopped in front of that table. "But at least Mr. Collingwood yelled at him in front of everyone…he'll probably be fired from his job. It was worth it just to—oh!" She had spotted Bruce.

"Hello," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I was just talking with Jeannie."

"Yes, I'm Harriet Kerr. It's not what it looks like, though."

"Actually, it is," Jeannie mumbled. She was surprised to see Bruce's lips twitch as if he were trying to hold back a laugh.

Harriet flushed even deeper. "Nice to meet you, Bruce," she said. "Let's _go_ , Jeannie."

"Thanks for the scarf and the hot chocolate," Jeannie said as Harriet pulled her out of her chair. "Maybe I'll see you around?"

He smiled. "It's no problem, Jeannie. I'll invite you over for dinner sometime. And…I am very sorry."

"Dinner?" Harriet said at the same time Jeannie said, "Really, Bruce, I'm fine."

He gave them a little wave as they left. As soon as they walked outside, they were greeted by a swarm of photographers. "Is Bruce Wayne in there?" one asked Jeannie excitedly.

"Yes. Take all the pictures you want," a voice drawled before she could speak. Whirling around, she noticed Jack leaning against the side of the building. For once, he wasn't smiling.

"No, he's not," Jeannie said vehemently to the photographer, hoping he hadn't heard Jack.

When the paparazzi had disappeared, she ran to catch up with Harriet. But all of a sudden an arm shot out and roughly grabbed her. "First Ollie boy, now Bruce Wayne?" Jack said in a low voice. "Who will it be next? A king?"

"What's your problem, Jack?" Jeannie snapped. He didn't answer, but she could see the rage in his eyes. His grip tightened on her arm until it was physically painful. She cried out and tried to wrench herself away.

"If you're not careful, you'll end up just like your sister," he spat at her, and was gone. She rubbed her aching arm, realizing he had drawn blood. The look in his eyes chilled her to the bone.

For the first time, Jeannie felt genuinely scared of Jack Napier.


	10. November 1994: Escalation

_**COULD THIS BE THE FUTURE QUEEN OF GOTHAM? BRUCE WAYNE SEEN WITH MYSTERIOUS GIRL NEAR WAYNE TOWER** _

"I can't believe this is happening to me," Jeannie moaned as soon as she read the headline of the next day's newspaper. "I spent ten minutes with the guy and now I'm all over the papers?"

"Cheer up, at least they didn't get a clear picture of you," Liam pointed out. He squinted at the fuzzy image on the front page, which depicted Bruce and Jeannie (luckily her back was to the camera) talking outside of Wayne Tower. "If they had, there would be photographers outside our door."

Jeannie threw _The_ _Gotham Times_ aside in disgust. Why was it that there hadn't been any pictures taken of their confrontation with the gang? Was her luck just that bad?

"I thought every girl wanted to be famous," Liam said. "At least this will be something to tell Miranda and Oliver about."

Jeannie winced. "Yeah. Sure," she said, not wanting to tell him that she hadn't heard from either of them for six months.

Harriet waddled into the kitchen then. She looked distastefully at the newspaper before turning to Jeannie. "I'll walk with you to school."

Jeannie raised her eyebrows. "So you're going back?"

Harriet rolled her eyes. "I'm not going back to that hellhole until the babies are born. I mean that I'll walk _with_ you to school."

Jeannie gave Liam and Rebecca a sideways glance. They both shrugged. Sighing in defeat, she tossed the newspaper aside and grabbed her backpack. "All right. Let's go."

* * *

It was a decidedly warmer day outside. Jeannie took off her earmuffs and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before turning to Harriet. "Okay. What do you want?"

"I just need to talk to you," Harriet replied. "So please don't laugh at me or say something sarcastic. This is serious."

Jeannie nodded cautiously. "What is it?"

"I know the two of us sometimes don't get along—"

"You mean _never_ get along."

"Fine. The two of us _never_ get along and I want to change that. I've had a lot of time to think since, well, _this_ —" she gestured to herself, "—and I realized that I've been rude to everyone because I'm jealous."

Jeannie laughed in surprise. " _What?_ "

"Think about it. I'm always the one who gets left out. Liam's the oldest. Becky's the genius. You're the baby of the family. What am I? Mom and Dad have never paid as much attention to me as they have to you guys. That's why I dated Zach—because he made me feel like I mattered. I thought I was in love with him. It's why I slept with him. He just freaked out when I got pregnant."

"Don't make excuses for him, Harriet."

She bit her lip. "I'm not. I'm just saying—I feel bad about going to Wayne Tower yesterday. His dad was really angry. But I have to admit, it felt good seeing the look on his face."

Jeannie smiled at the thought. "What did you tell Mr. Collingwood?"

"The truth—that I'm having twin girls and am six months pregnant. He thinks it's a good idea that I'm giving the babies up for adoption."

"Does he know they're due on your sixteenth birthday?"

Harriet shook her head. "Zach told his parents I'm seventeen. But the point is, Jeannie, I know you like to rush into things without thinking. As your older sister, it's my duty to make sure you don't go the same way as I did."

"Don't worry. I'm not going to get pregnant at fifteen."

"You say that now. But when you think you're in love and you're alone with him—"

"Harriet!"

"It's the truth, Jeannie. You and Oliver were always very close. I know you had a crush on him. What would you honestly do if you were in his bedroom and his parents weren't home?"

Jeannie ducked her head, blushing madly. "Nothing! I'm fourteen!"

"I'd just turned fifteen when Zach and I first had sex," Harriet continued bluntly. "To be honest, it wasn't that fun."

"This conversation can't get any worse," Jeannie muttered to herself. The last thing she wanted to hear about was her sister's sex life.

"So the next time you're with your friend Jack, remember that it's not all it's cracked up to be."

Never mind—it _could_ get worse.

Thankfully, sensing Jeannie's embarrassment seemed to calm Harriet down. "My point is, everything you do has consequences. Believe me."

"I'm not having sex with Jack, if that's what you're asking." The words _sex_ and _Jack_ in the same sentence just didn't go together. It was like trying to imagine a stupid Rebecca, or an outgoing Oliver.

Now Harriet was blushing too. "I didn't mean that. I was just—"

"Mom put you up to this, didn't she?"

Harriet didn't respond. Jeannie nodded to herself, smirking. Mrs. Kerr had used Harriet's pregnancy as an example of how _not_ to behave. Liam had found a box of condoms in his room shortly before a date with his girlfriend, and Rebecca had "mysteriously" received a magazine detailing the pitfalls of teenage pregnancy. Jeannie supposed it was only a matter of time before she was targeted as well.

"I don't like rebelling against them anymore," Harriet finally said. "I've disappointed them enough already. They didn't want me to give up the babies, but I told them it was impossible not to."

"Are you sure you don't want to name them?" Jeannie asked gently.

Harriet shook her head. "Right now, it's still just like a bad dream. If I name them, then I'm afraid it will become too… _real_."

Jeannie wanted to say that Harriet's volatile mood swings and frequent vomiting was far too real for _her_ , but she bit her tongue.

"There's the school," her sister said as the roof came into view. "Have a good day, Jeannie."

"Yeah, you too," Jeannie said in some surprise. When Harriet had left, she mumbled, "Hormones. They turn even the scariest of women into human beings."

As she was walking into the school, she realized that it was the first "real" conversation she had ever had with Harriet.

* * *

The day was abuzz with gossip and speculation about the identity of Bruce Wayne's "mystery woman". Jeannie was greatly amused by the fact that nobody had yet realized it was actually her, and couldn't help smirking whenever the topic was mentioned. Then again, the death glares some of the girls were giving the picture suggested that perhaps it was better if nobody knew it _was_ Jeannie. There was no way she would able to hold her own against fifty of Bruce's biggest admirers.

Her last class of the day was Chemistry. Jeannie's initial idea of chemistry had always been that of the mad scientist mixing differently-colored concoctions to make antidotes and poisons. She had originally signed up for the course with a vague, foolish idea that she would be learning how to do the same. Unfortunately, what she hadn't realized was that chemistry required a lot of math and memorization. In fact, she would be failing the course if it wasn't for Jack. He was absolutely _brilliant_ at chemistry. Now there was something Jeannie hadn't seen coming.

She unconsciously rubbed the arm where he had grabbed her, hoping he wasn't too angry. What had she done wrong, anyway? Did he have some sort of grudge against Bruce Wayne?

Jeannie's heart jolted nervously when she saw Jack already sitting at the table they shared. She kept her eyes on her feet as she stumbled over to him, half-wishing a hole would open up in the ground and swallow her.

"Haven't told anyone yet, have you?" Jack muttered as soon as she sat down.

Jeannie glanced over at him. "What do you mean?"

"About your little boyfriend."

Her mouth fell open. "Bruce is not my boyfriend! We met five minutes before you saw us. If you must know, I was at Wayne Tower because of Harriet and he just happened to be there—"

"Save your breath, Jeannie," he snapped. While she spluttered angrily, he got out of his seat to get the materials for the lab they were about to perform. Jeannie watched him with her eyes narrowed. What was his _problem_?

"You're one to talk," she whispered loudly when he came back with several vials of dangerous-looking chemicals. "Who were those guys you were hanging out with, anyway?"

"It's none of your business," he shot back. "Who do you think you are, my mother?"

"For God's _sake_ , Jack! What if one of them had raped me? Wouldn't you have tried to stop them?"

"They wouldn't have tried it," he said coldly. "Not in broad daylight and with a crowd like that watching them. They just wanted to screw with Wayne."

"Well, it worked," Jeannie replied.

Jack didn't say anything more, but she could see his hands shaking and his muscles contracting as he clenched his fingers into fists and relaxed them repeatedly. Jeannie tried to ignore this and concentrate on the solution they were supposed to make, but her mind couldn't focus on the work. She soon forgot whether she was supposed to add water to sulfuric acid or sulfuric acid to water.

"You're doing it wrong," Jack finally told her, a hint of irritation in his voice. "Sulfuric acid is already extremely corrosive. You're just lowering the pH level even more."

Jeannie rubbed her temples. "How about you do it then, since you're so clever?"

He surveyed her work critically before saying, "You really weren't paying attention to what you were doing, were you? I'm going to have to start over."

Embarrassed and frustrated, Jeannie crumpled her paper up into a ball and threw it into the trashcan, glaring at the boy sitting at the table beside her. His name was Anthony Reynolds and despite being a freshman, he had already been suspended twice. Jeannie hated the way he always stared at her as if she was something to eat.

In response to her glare, Anthony wiggled his eyebrows and made a crude hand gesture. "How ya doin', sweet thing?" he said easily, winking at her.

"Lay off the sugar talk," Jeannie snapped. "Stop staring at me."

"Ooh, the kitten's got claws," he retorted in mock surprise. "I'll make you purr, sweetheart."

"Leave her alone," someone else commanded. Jeannie jumped when she saw Jack standing right behind her as if he'd been there all along.

But Anthony merely laughed at Jack's words. "What are you gonna do about it, Napier?" he asked. "Sic your father on me? Oh, wait…"

Jack made a furious move toward Anthony, but Jeannie held him back. "Don't get into a fight, please," she begged, seizing his wrists. A peculiar rush shot through her when they touched, but she was too preoccupied to pay attention to it.

"As I was saying, have I ever told you your older sister is pretty hot, Jenny?" Anthony continued. "Too bad she got knocked up by that prick Zach Collingwood. I bet he had a hell of a night with her, though."

"Shut up," she ordered, but Anthony continued to grin.

"I think you'd be pretty good in bed too, Jean. How loud do you suppose you would— _holy shit, Napier_!"

The classroom went dead silent and everyone turned around at Anthony's muffled shout. He was on all fours kneeling on the ground, howling in pain. The vial of solution Jeannie had made was knocked over.

"Oops," Jack said quietly, but he was shaking with laughter.

Jeannie stared at him in horror. "What did you do?" she whispered.

Writhing on the ground, Anthony managed to grab Jeannie's ankle with the hand that wasn't covered in acid. "You and your girlfriend are dead, Napier," he growled, and pulled her leg out from under her. Jeannie lost her balance and fell to the ground, cracking her head on the edge of the desk as she did. A sickening pain shot through her and everything went black.

* * *

Her mother's voice, anxious and worried, lured Jeannie out of her reverie. She was aware of a bright white light shining above her and blurred shapes moving around. Her head throbbed dully.

Jeannie opened one eye. "Mom?" she croaked.

"Oh, _Jeannie_ ," Mrs. Kerr exclaimed. "How are you feeling?"

"My head…" she began. The last thing she remembered was talking with Harriet before school.

"You have a concussion," her mother said. "It's not serious, but you hit your head pretty hard."

Jeannie opened her other eye and blinked at the bright light shining in her face. She was lying on a narrow, uncomfortable bed in a whitewashed room. Her father was sitting on a chair beside the bed. "Where am I?"

"The hospital," Mrs. Kerr answered. "Luckily your teacher called an ambulance as soon as you fainted."

Wearily, Jeannie looked over at Mr. Kerr. "How long was I out for?"

"About eight hours," he said. "It's ten P.M."

"Can you remember what happened, honey?" Mrs. Kerr asked. She sat on the edge of Jeannie's bed. "Another boy from your class had to go to the hospital—I think his name is Anthony. He spilled acid all over himself."

A fuzzy memory began to form in Jeannie's mind. She had argued with Jack…Anthony had provoked her…Jack had knocked the vial of acid onto him…"Oh, no," she groaned. "Is he all right?"

"He won't come out as lucky as you, that's for sure," Mr. Kerr said. "He's had an emergency operation and the doctors think he might be permanently blinded."

" _What_?" Jeannie gasped, flying up. Her head swam with pain at the sudden movement, but she tried to ignore it. "Permanently?"

"Whatever he spilled was extremely corrosive. You got some on your hand, but not enough to leave permanent damage."

 _Corrosive._ That was what Jack had said. She'd made that acid. If she had only been paying attention to what she was doing, Anthony would be fine…

"Are you in pain, Jeannie?" Mrs. Kerr asked worriedly. "The nurse said she could administer more painkillers—"

"No, I'm fine," she said. "How long do I have to stay here?"

Her parents exchanged a glance. "Overnight, at least," said Mr. Kerr. "You'll get to miss a few days of school in any case."

Jeannie sighed. "There goes my Chemistry mark."

The door suddenly burst open and the remaining Kerrs came rushing in. "Oh, good, you're awake," Harriet said when she saw Jeannie sitting up. "Liam and I were taking bets on whether you would be in a coma forever."

"I wasn't in a coma," Jeannie said while her siblings gathered around her bed.

"They wouldn't let us in until now," said Liam. "It's way past visiting hours, but we swore we wouldn't leave until we could see you."

"You'll be fine," Rebecca assured her. "I had a concussion once, remember?"

Jeannie nodded, feeling embarrassed. When she was two she had pushed Rebecca out of a window, thinking her sister would be able to fly. Needless to say, she couldn't.

"So what happened, anyway?" Liam asked. "The story is that this Anthony guy spilled acid on himself and pulled you down with him."

Jeannie supposed that that was what it would have looked like to the rest of the class. They hadn't seen Jack throw the acid. "Um, yeah," she finally said.

Her family shook their heads. "He should have been more careful with what he was doing," Mrs. Kerr said.

"I guess he's paying for it now, though," Rebecca pointed out.

Guilt squirmed in Jeannie's stomach. She didn't know whether to tell them the truth or stay silent. How loyal was she to Jack?

* * *

Luckily, the nurse came in soon after to shoo everyone out. Mrs. Kerr offered to stay with her, but Jeannie refused. She would never be able to sleep with her mother hovering over her all night.

By the time Jeannie was finally alone and the nurse had left, it was close to midnight. Her headache had dulled down to an annoying twinge and she felt very tired. The hospital food must have been spiked with sleeping pills.

Jeannie's eyes were just beginning to close when the door creaked open again. She winced as the light flicked on with a blinding brightness. "Who are you?" she mumbled as her eyes struggled to adjust.

There was a familiar chuckle from the chair beside her. "You don't remember me, _Jean_ -nie?"

She narrowed her eyes at Jack, feeling strangely excited and relieved. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I snuck in," he said cheerfully. "It was either that or dress up in a nurse's uniform."

Jeannie laughed. "So we're not fighting anymore?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Not if you don't want to. Oh, by the way, I brought flowers." Jack reached into his coat and pulled out a bouquet of wilted roses.

"Gee, thanks," Jeannie said hesitantly as he placed them on her bedside table. "I've always wanted wilted flowers."

"No problem." He grinned at her. "And the best part is, they don't even need water!"

Jeannie looked from him to the bouquet. "Aren't roses supposed to be a symbol of romantic love?"

Jack scoffed. "Who cares? They're flowers."

She couldn't help but laugh, and cringed when the movement made her head start pounding again. "Damn concussion."

"How long do they think you'll be away from school for?" Jack asked, moving from the chair to her bed.

Jeannie shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe two or three days."

"Perfect. Everyone will have forgotten about you by the time you get back. They'll be talking about Anthony instead."

"Speaking of which—how did you manage to pull _that_ one off? My family thinks that Anthony spilled the acid on himself and deliberately pulled me down with him."

Jack nodded. "Nobody saw me throw the acid on him, so I'm innocent until Anthony is able to talk again. It sounds like that won't be for a while, though." He smirked. "I did an excellent job, if I do say so myself."

"It's not funny, Jack. He's probably permanently _blinded_. That's horrible."

"The acid was nothing, _Jean_ -nie. You should see what I can do with a pencil!"

"Don't you feel guilty?" she asked, searching his face as carefully as she could in the dim light.

But he remained cheerful. "Reynolds had it coming to him."

"He's just a stupid boy, Jack. Nobody deserves to have their face burnt by acid."

" _Nobody_?" Jack repeated. "Really? Then I don't deserve these scars. But I have them anyway."

Jeannie held her breath. Jack rarely mentioned his appearance and she had never dared to ask him how he had gotten his scars. Cautiously, she reached out a hand and entwined his fingers with hers. "It's okay," she told him. "I don't agree with it, but I'm not going to correct anyone when they tell me what happened."

Jack's hand tightened in hers before she pulled away. "But you have to admit, the look on his face was _price_ —"

A shaft of light appeared from behind the door and Jeannie heard footsteps walking down the hallway. "Hide!" she hissed frantically. "It's the nurse!"

The bedsprings creaked as Jack jumped off the bed. Jeannie lay her head back down on the pillow and closed her eyes, trying to keep her breathing deep and even.

Footsteps walked over to her bed and she involuntarily jerked when she felt a sharp prick on her arm. Jeannie forced herself to lie still as she waited for the nurse to leave. When the sound of footsteps had disappeared, she opened her eyes and sat up. "Jack?" she whispered as loudly as she dared.

He appeared from his hiding spot behind the bathroom door. "Yes, Jeannie, I'm still here. Do you want me to stay all night?" Even though he was being sarcastic, Jeannie couldn't help but think _Yes, I do want you to stay here._

She watched his silhouette blur and refocus. His scars seemed even more prominent all of a sudden. "You look funny," she giggled.

Jack frowned. He bent over her and rolled up her sleeve, swearing under his breath. "They drugged you," he said. "The nurse must have heard voices and thought you were talking to yourself."

"You have pretty eyes," Jeannie said, surprised. Her surroundings were beginning to fade fast.

His lips twitched. "You know, you're the first person to say that, _Jean_ -nie."

"Thanks!" she exclaimed, attempting to grin. "You're my best friend, Jack."

"What happened to Ollie boy?" He sat back down on the edge of the bed.

"Oliver and I drifted 'part. You won't do that, will you?" She fought to keep her eyes open.

Jack laughed quietly under his breath. "Go to sleep, Jeannie."

"Just don't…throw acid on people anymore," she said. "Please."

"I won't. That trick got boring after the first time."

If Jeannie had been more alert, she would have realized he was serious. But as it was, she merely smiled. "G'night, Jack."

He said something in response, but Jeannie had already fallen unconscious. She spent the rest of the night in a drug-induced slumber.

When she woke up the next morning, he was gone. The only thing that remained to suggest he had ever been there was the bouquet of wilted roses on the bedside table.

Perhaps it was just her, but they didn't look nearly as wilted in the light.


	11. March 1995: Disappearance

**Four Months Later**

**March 1995**

"Jeannie! Get down here!" Harriet's frantic voice echoed throughout the house.

"One second," Jeannie called back, annoyed. She was in the middle of a particularly difficult math problem.

"No! _Now_!" Harriet's voice had escalated into a high-pitched wail.

"Damn it," muttered Jeannie. She threw down her pencil and marched downstairs, where her very pregnant sister was lying on the couch in front of the television. "What do you want? I'm not ordering pizza for you again—"

"I think my water broke," a terrified-looking Harriet gulped. She was staring in horror at her ballooning stomach.

"Aw, _no_ ," Jeannie protested. "The babies aren't due for another week. Can't you wait until Mom and Dad get home?"

Harriet half-laughed, half-sobbed. "I can't control it, Jeannie!"

"I'll call an ambulance then," Jeannie said. She sprinted to the kitchen and dialed 911, hands shaking. Mr. and Mrs. Kerr were at a policeman's funeral and wouldn't be back until later that night. Liam and Rebecca were both out, so Jeannie was alone with Harriet at the worst possible time.

"Gotham Emergency Services speaking," a female voice said over the phone. "Please state your name and emergency."

"My name is Jennifer Kerr, and I think my sister is in labor," Jeannie replied in a rush. Holding the phone tightly to her ear, she ran over to the hall closet and grabbed an armful of towels.

"When is her due date?" the operator asked.

"A week from today, on March sixteenth," gasped Jeannie. Back in the living room, Harriet was curled up into a ball, panting loudly. Jeannie threw the towels at her.

"What is your address?" the woman said. "We'll send an ambulance over right away."

"Eleven ninety Grove Street, in Gotham Estates," Jeannie rattled off. "She's only fifteen and she's having twins."

"I understand," the operator calmly replied. "When she starts having contractions, tell her to push as hard as she can."

"Okay," said Jeannie. "Thank you." She hung up right away, realizing too late that she was supposed to stay on the phone until the ambulance arrived. Oh well. She needed her hands free anyway.

"Get me some aspirin," Harriet moaned as soon as Jeannie raced back into the room.

"Uh, I don't think that's going to help, Harriet," said Jeannie. "Don't you need something a little bit stronger?"

"GET ME SOME FUCKING ASPIRIN!" her sister shouted.

Jeannie jumped back, startled. Harriet looked like a rampaging bull with her red face and heavy breathing. "Stay there," she said stupidly and hurried out of the room. She was in no position to argue with someone in labor.

As she raced by the front door, the doorbell rang. Jeannie threw it open eagerly, hoping the ambulance had already arrived, but she saw something much different: Jack's face grinning down at her.

Jeannie stood there stunned for a moment, inwardly marveling at the irony of it all. The first time Jack had ever come to her house, and it had been the time she _least_ wanted him to be there. "Jack!" she gulped. "This is a—this is a surprise."

"You don't look happy to see me, _Jean_ -nie," he said in mock disappointment.

"Well, um, you sort of came at the worst possible time," she replied.

As if on cue, Harriet's strangled voice yelled, "HURRY UP, JEANNIE!"

Jack raised an eyebrow. She winced. "You see, Harriet's in labor and I'm the only one home," Jeannie quickly tried to explain. "We're waiting for the ambulance to arrive."

"I'll, ah, just come back at a better time, then." He turned around and began to walk away.

In desperation, she grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back. "But since you're here, you might as well help."

" _Help?_ " he repeated in disbelief. "Do I look like a midwife?"

"At least stay by the front door and tell me when the ambulance arrives," Jeannie begged. "You were going to visit me anyway, so—visit!"

"You owe me," he grumbled, but followed her inside.

"Is someone else here?" Harriet called. "I heard the doorbell ring!"

"Jack is!" Jeannie yelled back.

There was a beat of silence before Harriet began screaming every profanity that came to mind. Jack's laughter didn't seem to help any. "Really, it was worth coming here just to hear her reaction," he snickered.

Jeannie gave him what she hoped was a disapproving look. "Just stay there and call me when you hear the ambulance arrive."

Hoping he wouldn't leave as soon as she disappeared, she ran upstairs to get aspirin, feeling like that wasn't such a good idea. She could lie and say they were all out, but when Harriet discovered the truth she would likely murder Jeannie.

Ultimately, she decided that whatever happened wouldn't be her fault and so she pocketed the aspirin as well as grabbing a cold compress.

Back downstairs, Harriet had gone silent and was breathing shallowly, her face an ashy gray. Nervously, Jeannie shook the bottle at her. "Here."

Harriet unscrewed the cap and swallowed two pills at once. "God, it hurts…" she groaned.

"The ambulance is coming soon," Jeannie tried to reassure her. "They'll deliver the babies faster."

Her sister didn't appear to be listening. "Fucking Zach…he fucking gives me _twins_ …"

"I'm sure he didn't intend to," said Jeannie. "Just think of how happy Mr. and Mrs. Sharpe will be when they see their new children."

After a long, grueling month of meeting potential parents for the twins, Harriet had finally decided on an older couple living in Massachusetts who were unable to have children. Richard and Mary Sharpe were teachers at an elementary school who had been waiting for over a decade to adopt. Harriet had bonded with them instantly and often insisted they would be better parents than she ever would.

"Yeah, well, they're lucky they didn't have to go through— _shit_ ," Harriet hissed and clenched her fists. "I think these are contractions."

"Take deep breaths," Jeannie suggested. "Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

"Turn on the television or something," Harriet ground out. "I need a distraction."

Jeannie grabbed the remote and picked a channel at random, hoping to find something cheerful. Unfortunately, it was the news.

"… _Here is_ _GCN's own Mike Engel reporting live with breaking news and updates."_ The screen cut to a picture of a blond man with a somber face.

" _Hello Gotham. As I'm sure many of you are aware, there has been a breakout from Blackgate Penitentiary. So far, five prisoners have been reported missing: Carmine Falcone, Carla Viti, Joseph Gambol, Paul Napier, and Salvatore Maroni. Police are investigating the breakout and the families of the convicts will be notified…"_

Harriet suddenly screamed. Jack was standing in the doorway, but he wasn't looking at them. He was staring at the television screen with such an expression on his face that Jeannie was afraid to go near him.

All of a sudden, he turned around and was gone. Ignoring Harriet's protests, Jeannie jumped up and ran after him, blocking his path. She pulled him into the kitchen and closed the door.

"You need to tell your stepmother," she said.

Jack looked at her with an expression of mingled amusement and derision. "You think I haven't thought of that already?"

Jeannie felt as if she had shrunk several feet. There was a cold, hard edge to his eyes now. She hadn't seen him look like this in months. He had turned into the Jack Napier she had originally known: the mocking, scornful figure. "Can you call her from here?"

"Our house doesn't have a telephone." He began to make for the back door, but she cut in front of him.

"Please stay here until the ambulance arrives. You can tell them what happened," Jeannie said. "I don't want to be alone with my sister."

"Move, Jeannie," he ordered. For a second, they merely stared at each other, brown eyes meeting blue. It was like the day she had seen Paul beating Jack—time had frozen. Harriet was yelling from the living room, but neither moved a muscle.

"Where are you going?" she whispered.

"I don't know," Jack said coldly.

"Stay. Please."

" _Get out of the way, Jeannie_." She had never heard him talk like this before, never been the object of his anger. It terrified her.

But the stubborn part of her didn't budge. "Jack—please—you'll be safe here—"

It happened so fast Jeannie barely had time to react. Jack moved so quickly her brain couldn't process the information. She suddenly found herself pressed against the wall with a cold metal object digging into her throat.

 _He was holding a knife._ "Jack," was all she could choke. Emily's story rushed back into her mind. Two boys had bullied him and they had never been heard from again…

"Let me go," he ordered.

"Fine. Go!" she gulped. The pressure lessened immediately and Jack tossed the knife aside. He hovered in front of her, deliberating.

The ridiculousness of what happened was beginning to sink in. Jeannie felt her adrenaline slowly being replaced with anger. "Why aren't you leaving, then?" she snapped at him. "GO!"

Jack wrenched the door open just as a high-pitched wailing sounded on the street outside. "The ambulance," he said shortly, and left.

How could he have done that? How could he have held a knife to her like that so callously, as if he hadn't realized what he was doing? Had he forgotten who she _was_ for a moment? Or did he simply…not care? Jeannie rubbed the side of her neck where the blade had dug in, wanting to vomit. Things had happened so fast she was left breathless. Maybe she was just in a stupid dream and she would wake up in another minute.

"JEANNIE!" Harriet screeched. "HELP!"

With her mind temporarily diverted to her sister's urgent situation, Jeannie rushed back into the living room. But there was still a nagging voice at the back of her mind: Jack could have overpowered her at any instant. She wasn't particularly strong; he could have simply pushed aside or even stabbed her. Instead, he had waited and forced her to verbally tell him to leave. She didn't understand it. But most of all, she couldn't forget the look in his eyes. It had been worse than any horror movie.

 _He'll come back_ , Jeannie kept telling herself all the way to the hospital. _The police will catch his father, and he'll come back._

But the police didn't catch his father, and he never came back.


	12. Part 2: June 1998: Reappearance

**Three Years Later**

**June 1998**

Driving home in the pouring rain wasn't Jeannie's idea of fun. She'd had a long, horrible day at school, followed by a long, horrible shift at work. Was it too much to ask that she at least get home safely? It had been perfectly sunny five hours before.

Grumbling under her breath, she jogged to her car and jumped in as fast as she could, slamming the door behind her. Today was _not_ a good day.

At least when she got home she would have the house to herself. In fact, she had the entire _weekend_ to herself—Mr. and Mrs. Kerr had driven up to New York City to visit Harriet. From what Jeannie gathered, her sister was loving every second of living away from home and partied regularly, with no thought to her studies. It was so…Harriet.

Much had changed in the years since she had last seen Jack. Aside from being the only child at home—Liam had moved back to Chicago, Rebecca was at an arts school in Los Angeles, and Harriet was in New York—Jeannie liked to think of herself as more motivated and disciplined. Thanks to Emily's helpful connections, she had gotten a job as a waitress in one of the fanciest restaurants in Gotham. It wasn't as glamorous as Jeannie originally imagined, but she'd been working there for just over two years and the pay was excellent. For her seventeenth birthday, Jeannie had pooled up all of her wages and bought herself a car. It was used, old and the paint was peeling off, but she loved it. Mr. Kerr scoffed that she just bought it because it was blue, but Jeannie liked that it stood out from all the other white and black cars. So far, she'd had it for a year and it was still going strong.

Driving downtown was always a nightmare, but driving downtown in the rain was absolute torture. Jeannie slowed to a crawl as she navigated around blurry lights and pedestrians, trying to see more than twenty feet in front of her. She couldn't afford to get into an accident: insurance and damages would be hell to pay. Besides, she was planning on attending Gotham University in three months and her budget was stretched tight enough as it was.

 _Think of your paycheck, think of your paycheck, think of your paycheck…_ Jeannie thought as she found herself at yet another red light. Were these things timed just to piss people off?

It took her well over half an hour to get home, and by the time she slammed the front door shut she was in a hideous mood. Jeannie stomped up the stairs to her room and swore loudly when she stubbed her toe on the edge of her bed.

There was a mocking laugh right beside her ear. Jeannie shrieked, even though she knew no one could hear her, and instinctively punched the intruder as hard as she could. However, she yanked her hand back instantly as her fingers made contact with rough, scarred skin. The intruder took advantage of her momentary reflex and roughly grabbed her wrists, flipping her over onto the bed. Jeannie's eyes widened as she stared up at a face she thought she'd never see again. "Jack!" she gasped.

He was straddling her, his knees digging into her sides. A trickle of blood oozed from his left scar where she'd punched him and he wiped it away carelessly. He was still recognizable, but his face was changed, older. His dark eyes had an intensity to them she didn't remember. Jeannie had the sense he'd crossed some dangerous line.

"Missed me, _Jean_ -nie?" Jack asked. His voice had definitely deepened, but now it was as if he was choosing each word slowly, carefully. Jeannie squirmed under him, suddenly aware of their compromising position.

"Of course I missed you, _Jack_ ," she spat out. "Now get off of me!"

He frowned. "You mean you're not _enjoying_ this?"

Jeannie growled. "I have a boyfriend! Of course I can't—"

His entire demeanor changed at her words. His eyes darkened and his grip became almost painful. "A boyfriend?" he whispered softly, dangerously. "Who is the lucky guy, hmmm? Did you have a happy reunion with Ollie boy? Or is it Bruce Wayne, boy billionaire?"

"For your information, I haven't heard from either of them in years," Jeannie hissed. Miranda told her that Oliver had abruptly moved away from Chicago, and he had never been heard from again. As for Bruce, he'd never followed up on his promise to invite her to dinner. The tabloids reported he was away traveling in Europe.

Jeannie refused to look away from Jack's relentless stare. "How many other girls have you done _this_ to?"

His eyes flashed. "Other girls are so _boring_ ," he said. "As if I'd even let them get close to me!" He laughed under his breath. "You should consider yourself lucky, _Jean_ -nie."

"I'm flattered," she said sarcastically. "In fact, I'd be even more flattered if you stopped pinning me down, thanks."

He assessed her for a moment before reluctantly relaxing his grip. Rubbing her arms, Jeannie sat up and glared at him. "Thank you. First things first—why the _hell_ are you in my room?"

"I was in town and decided I'd pay a little visit," he replied, shrugging. "Luckily, no one was home."

"You're damn lucky no one was home, because my father would have shot you on the spot. Oh, and you owe me an explanation."

"For what?" He was smirking.

"For everything. In case you don't remember, the last time we were together you held a knife to my throat and ran away." Jeannie inhaled deeply, surprised at his scent. There was something musky about it, mixed with the hint of…gasoline? Whatever it was, it suited him perfectly.

Jack adjusted his position on the bed so their thighs were touching. Jeannie hated herself for not moving away. "Well, my _dear_ stepmother decided she wanted to run away to Toronto and I had no choice but to, uh, _follow_ her."

"You went all the way to Toronto?" Jeannie asked. "What happened?"

"It was fine until my, ah, so-called _father_ decided to show up. I came home one day and there she was…lying on the floor in a puddle of blood. He came up behind me holding the knife." Jack's eyes flickered to the right as he remembered. "Not long after, he had an…unfortunate accident."

Jeannie gasped. "You _killed_ him? Oh my God…oh my God, Jack…"

He continued as if he hadn't heard her. "So I came back to Gotham last week and bought an apartment in the Narrows."

"The Narrows?" Jeannie said in dismay. "That's the worst place to be—"

"Not for me, _Jean_ -nie." Jack laughed.

"I still can't believe you killed your own father," she said. So that was what had changed in his eyes: there was something harder, something darker in them. But Jeannie wasn't scared of him yet. She wondered if she was having some sort of delayed reaction.

"So," he said in mock cheerfulness, ignoring her last statement, "What have _you_ accomplished, love?"

Jeannie rolled her eyes at the pet name. "Nothing. Liam, Harriet and Becky all moved away from home. My nieces live in Boston somewhere—their names are Alice and Margaret. I'm going to study History next year at Gotham University. That's about it."

He raised his eyebrows. "Really? That's all that's happened in three years? What about your _boyfriend_?"

"His name is Richard and he's on the football team," Jeannie muttered. "We've been dating for six months." She didn't add that their relationship was already strained because she strongly suspected he was cheating on her.

Jack snickered as if he could read her mind. "Handsome, is he?"

"Not as much as you," she shot back. This pleased him; his smile turned genuine even though it was clear she was being sarcastic.

"Anyway, I figured I might as well visit you since I was back in Gotham," Jack said. "I wanted to make sure you meant it when you said we'd be friends _forever._ "

"Of course I did," Jeannie replied, slightly taken aback. "I told you I hated it when people went back on their word, didn't I?"

He laughed. "I missed you, _Jean-_ nie."

As always, she couldn't tell whether he was serious or not. "I, er, missed you too, Jack."

He suddenly leaned toward her and she scuttled back, startled. "Ah, Jeannie, don't spoil my fun," he said.

"I have a boyfriend," she muttered, though with less conviction this time.

"Do you?" he asked. "Or do you just _think_ you do, hmmm?"

"What are you talking about?" she said, alarmed. How could he have known…?

"You'll find out," Jack said. Abruptly, his tone changed from ominous to joking. "Now, do you have anything to eat? I walked all the way here and I'm _starving_."

"Yeah, I'll get you something," agreed Jeannie, but food was the last thing on her mind. She had a horrible feeling that things were about to drastically change, whether she wanted them to or not.


	13. June 1998: Surreal

For the first time in her life, Jeannie honestly didn't know what to do.

She didn't have a sarcastic comment, an easily-delivered lie, or an emergency phone call to help her. If she called the police, what would she say? "Uh…hi…my best friend whom I haven't seen in three years murdered his father and came back to Gotham to see me. Normally I would have called 911 straight away, but he's my friend and even though I think he's completely lost it, I feel some sort of twisted attraction to him. Can you help me?"

Yeah, that would certainly go over well.

Jack tore into the chicken Jeannie had prepared with such fervor she wondered how long it had been since he'd eaten. She gingerly took the seat across from him and pretended to look out the window behind his head, when in reality she was observing his every move. Really, it was ridiculous how he'd managed to get into her house unnoticed and then just sat on her bed like he owned the place! The shock of seeing him was quickly being replaced by annoyance. _We gotta get a guard dog,_ she thought fervently.

"I know I'm handsome, _Jean_ -nie, but there's no need to stare at me like that," Jack drawled as he polished off the last of the food.

She looked at him squarely, unable to conceal her surprise. "What?"

"You're too easy to read, _tiger_ ," he mocked. "It's all in those eyes of yours. You might wanna fix that if you don't want to be eaten alive someday."

"You do realize at this point you're the one who's likely to eat me alive?"

"Not if you behave," Jack replied. He crossed his arms and leaned toward her, fixing his dark gaze on her own. "So you're actually _scared_ of me, love?"

"Don't call me love," said Jeannie immediately. "I'm not your girlfriend."

"Is that what, uh, _Richard_ calls you?" he asked. "Because if he does—"

"This is ridiculous, Jack," she snapped. "What happened to the boy I used to know? The one who didn't scare me in the least?" _Well, most of the time_. "Don't _look_ at me like that—"

"To _you_ , I wasn't scary," he said matter-of-factly. "But to everyone else, well…your daddy could barely look me in the eye, and what friends you had _quickly_ disappeared. Speaking of which, how's Anthony Reynolds these days?"

Jeannie didn't have a response to that. She knew he was right…but _something_ had changed. He was older, darker. Something told her he wouldn't be content just to sneak into the police station and frame a few mobsters anymore.

Plus, she had to admit a part of her was genuinely frightened by him. It wasn't the knowledge that he had killed his father…if what he'd told her was true, that had been in self-defence. No…it was the fact that he spoke about it with passion, as if he'd relished every moment. It was the fact that his eyes looked dead. She wondered how different _she_ looked to him.

"So, did you ever go back and finish school?" Jeannie asked, trying to keep her tone light and casual.

He looked at her in disbelief before giving a short, barking laugh. "That was a good one! School accounts for _nothing_ in this world, _Jean_ -nie. The things that are the most important, they're things that can't be taught."

"What do you mean?"

Jack grinned lopsidedly. "I said they were things that can't be taught."

Her anger finally bubbled over and she stood up. "Listen, Jack Napier, you have ten seconds to get out of my house or so help me—"

"Why the sudden mood swing, love? You just said you missed me." He was still sitting stubbornly in his seat, looking up at her with an almost childish air of pigheadedness.

"Oh, I don't know," she snapped. "Maybe because you _killed your father_ and then broke into my house, not to mention all the personal stuff you probably went through—"

"I was just sitting on your bed, _Jean_ -nie, honest."

"Oh, and what the hell is with your sudden pet names for me? Why did you hold a knife to my throat the last time I saw you? Why do you barely tell me anything about yourself, yet you expect me to reveal my deepest secrets to you?" To her horror, she felt angry tears stab at her eyes. She spun away from him, determined not to show any signs of weakness.

But Jack knew. He could always read her like a book. He and Oliver had been the only ones who could ever do that. _Stop with the Oliver comparisons!_ Jeannie thought furiously. _He's long gone and you_ still _think about him!_

She heard the harsh sound of a chair scraping back, and several seconds later Jack's arm was around her waist. It was horrible, the conflicted feelings Jeannie was experiencing. She'd known, probably from the moment she first met him, that he was attractive just as much as he was infuriating. They had forged an odd friendship as young teenagers, but now that they were both eighteen and adults she had no idea what would come out of their dysfunctional relationship. They were both different and the same. Jeannie had no idea how to put their bond into words. She'd felt similarly with Oliver, but not to the same extent.

"It was either me or him," Jack said from behind her. "You know that, don't you? _You_ would have done the same if it was you, Jeannie."

She wanted to argue with him, but she knew deep down he was right. "You enjoyed it, though," she tried to mumble.

"He was _never_ my father. He didn't even want me alive," said Jack. He gave a muffled laugh. "Life isn't black and white, love. Stop trying to justify what I did. It doesn't need justifying."

"I hate you," she whispered.

"No you don't," he murmured. "I've watched you ever since you moved here, _Jean_ -nie. You feel the exact opposite about me. Remember that night in the forest? It wasn't hatred then."

"It's hatred _now_."

Again, he laughed. "If it was hatred, then you wouldn't let me do—" Jack spun her towards him and leaned so close their noses were almost touching. "— _this_."

"Stop," Jeannie muttered, but her heart was pounding a mile a minute and her blood was electric in her veins. Richard certainly didn't make her feel this excited.

Of course, Jack ignored her half-hearted plea. He ran his hand down her bare arm and smiled when she involuntarily shivered. "As for your other question…I call you _love for_ the same reason I call you _Jean_ -nie—because it annoys you. I like you the most when you're angry. Plus, you remind me of a tiger, hence the nickname."

Jeannie didn't want to let him know he was slowly breaking down her defences one by one, but that seemed impossible. How was it she could go from the verge of screaming to the verge of melting into his arms like a stupid little girl?

He suddenly grabbed her chin and pulled her face even closer to his. "One of the reasons I'm so _fascinated_ by you is the fact that you're the only person who's ever acted like they _cared_ about me. That kind of person is hard to find, especially in Gotham. Or…perhaps you're just too naïve to see why people avoid me." Jack chuckled to himself.

Jeannie tried to answer him, but her brain seemed to have disconnected from her body. In one rough movement, Jack closed the space between them and pressed his mouth hard against hers. She could feel his scars against the sides of her lips. To someone else, the sensation might have been unpleasant, but Jeannie found she actually _liked_ it.

Somewhere in the still-functioning part of her hazy brain, she knew that she was letting him have the upper hand. To counteract this, Jeannie deepened the kiss and grabbed a fistful of his hair in her best effort to be aggressive. She felt Jack smile and he pushed her against the wall, pinning her there as he'd pinned her to the bed.

It wasn't fair—he was infinitely stronger than her. Angrily, Jeannie bit down on his bottom lip and shuddered when a metallic taste seeped into her mouth. She pulled away first, spitting and choking.

"I think I won that one, _Jean-nie,"_ Jack said, watching her with amusement as she rinsed out her mouth with water, trying desperately to cleanse her mouth of his blood. "You're good, though. It _almost_ hurt."

"Some first kiss that was," she said, making a face as she turned back to him. "That cut better not heal."

Jack strode over and took her hand. "And _this_ ," he replied, "was what I came over here for. I knew you wouldn't throw me out within ten seconds. You know, you're the first person I've ever had positive feelings for."

"Break out the wedding invitations," Jeannie said sarcastically, looking down at their intertwined hands.

"Are we dating now?" he asked in mock surprise. "I thought this was just a one-time thing."

"Technically, I'm cheating on Richard," Jeannie said, feeling horribly guilty all of a sudden. "I can't do this, Jack."

"You don't care about him," he replied confidently. "Like I said before, I can see right through you."

"I do care about him," she argued.

"Obviously not enough, or the past ten minutes wouldn't have happened." Jack smirked. "Face it, Jeannie, your _little crush_ on me hasn't disappeared in the past three years."

"And as for your feelings?"

"I didn't come all the way here just for a pleasant chat." He left it at that and tried to draw her close again. "God, I thought you'd be easier to persuade."

Jeannie pushed away from him and let go of his hand. Jack looked mildly disappointed, his curly hair falling over his eyes. "Face it, tiger, you and I were meant to be together," he urged, flicking the curls back. "You're the only one who's ever had any sort of control over me."

"I'm touched as always, Romeo," she replied briskly. "Where's the engagement ring?"

His sure-to-be snarky reply was cut short by the low rumble of thunder in the distance. Jeannie glanced out the window at the dark sky above and flinched when she caught sight of a jagged flash of lightning.

"How unfortunate," said Jack, not sounding upset in the least. "Looks like I'll have to stay here tonight."

Now _that_ was a recipe for disaster. What if Mr. and Mrs. Kerr cut their trip short and came back a day early to find the two of them alone in the house? Considering what had happened to Harriet four years ago, there might be a _slight_ tendency towards overreaction. Jeannie might as well punish herself early by repeatedly banging her head against a brick wall.

"Can't you walk home?" she begged.

"What if I get struck by lightning and you spend the rest of your life regretting it?" Jack's constant grin was beginning to reappear on his face.

"If that's the case, then I'm sure your ghost will haunt me for eternity." As she spoke, Jeannie weighed her options carefully. If he slept on the couch downstairs and she drove him home first thing the following morning, everything would be fine. On the other hand, what if her parents _did_ decide to show up?

Another clap of thunder scattered her thoughts, and she finally decided that Mr. and Mrs. Kerr weren't reckless enough to drive home in a thunderstorm. "Fine," she sighed heavily. "But you're sleeping on the couch, and I'm locking my bedroom door."

Jack almost looked affronted. "I'm not gonna rape you, _Jean_ -nie. I'm not my father."

She considered him carefully before nodding. "All right."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Jack was sprawled out lazily on the couch flipping through television channels. The storm was right above them, and every few seconds the living room would light up with a blinding flash, followed by a deafening crash of thunder. Jeannie, who had never liked thunderstorms, jumped every time this happened. At first, Jack just laughed at her, but after the fifth time it happened he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her onto his lap. "Scared, _Jean_ -nie?" he taunted.

She elbowed him in the ribs, but he merely laughed. Her face was bright red at their unusually close proximity. She remembered when he would flinch if she so much as brushed his shoulder—what had happened?

Jeannie wasn't entirely sure how she felt about this cocky, arrogant Jack. He'd always acted confident around her, but now it seemed as if he was taking it to extremes. He automatically assumed they were a couple after half an hour together. It was true Jeannie had a crush on him when they were younger, but did she really want this new, egoistic model? Most of all, what would her parents think?

Unsurprisingly, Jack finally settled on watchinga horror movie. Jeannie had never been able to stomach horror movies, and this one was no exception. She winced every time the killer appeared on the screen, even going so far as to look away whenever a murder was imminent. The raging thunderstorm outside didn't help her nerves either.

In contrast, Jack laughed uproariously every time the villain showed up. "Can these girls _get_ any stupider?" he chuckled. "Why would she drop the knife if it's clear he isn't _dead_?"

Jeannie's heart jumped into her throat every time she came to the realization that Jack had personal experience in these matters. She didn't dare to move away from him, but she felt oddly safe being so close. It was a dizzying paradox.

When the movie finally ended, he clapped in approval. "That was _excellent_. Don't you think so, love?"

Jeannie was too busy inwardly thanking her lucky stars that she hadn't seen the movie as a child to answer him.

Jack switched off the TV and stretched out on the couch. "It's past midnight," he remarked. "Wasn't your bedtime a while ago, Jeannie?"

She stood up and tried to look disapproving. "Very funny."

Jack yawned in reply, waving her out of the room as if he owned the place. Jeannie was initially happy to oblige, but as she wandered through the dark house she began to see masked figures and knives everywhere she looked. She shivered and ran up to her bedroom as fast as she could, flipping on the light. Sleep would be an impossibility tonight.

But even though the blood and murder in the movie wasn't real, Jack certainly was. How had he killed Paul Napier? A quick stab through the heart? Or had he devised some horribly brutal method that she couldn't fathom even in her worst nightmares?

She'd kissed a murderer. She had feelings for a boy who killed his own father. Self-defense or not, he was even more dangerous than she believed.

Should Jeannie tell him she knew everything?

* * *

After Harriet had given birth and everything settled down, Mr. Kerr finally told her Jack's entire story. "You deserve to hear how he grew up," her father reasoned.

According to the files Mr. Kerr pieced together, Paul Napier had also been abused as a child. He was the youngest of five children, and Jack's grandfather strongly believed in corporeal punishment. From an early age, Paul learned how to bully and intimidate people to get his way. His crimes as a teenager were mainly robbery and assault with occasional rapes in between. He dropped out of school at the age of fifteen and cut off contact with the rest of his family, buying a dilapidated apartment in the Narrows. Paul joined a gang and started to commit his first murders-his useful contacts helped him to escape from the law for many years.

When he was twenty-four, he encountered a young woman named Diana Grant. Diana was nineteen and originally from New York City, but studied nursing at Gotham University. She was coming home from a late-night class and, being relatively new to the city, didn't know the dangers the Narrows held. Paul blocked her path and raped her in an alleyway. Diana was terrified, but he decided he liked his new "toy" and brought her to his apartment, where he immediately locked her up. She disappeared from the university without a trace, and the police never found any leads. Paul managed to obtain a marriage license for them as a joke and kept her inside at all times.

Diana became very withdrawn and depressed, falling even deeper into despair when she discovered she was pregnant. Paul wanted her to get an abortion, but they didn't have the money and if she died during the procedure he would surely be found out. So he reluctantly allowed the baby to live.

When their son was born nine months later, Diana named him Jack, after her beloved brother who died when he was very young. Paul rarely spent time at the apartment anymore, only coming back to feed his wife and child. By the time Jack was five, Diana was a shadow of her former self. Her friends and family all thought she was dead. She had faded into just another woman who'd been in the Narrows at the wrong time—abductions were common there.

During one of the times Paul came to check up on them, Diana shakily revealed she was pregnant again. Enraged, Paul beat her within an inch of her life and ultimately pushed her over the balcony—killing both her and the fetus. Five-year-old Jack witnessed the entire thing and tried to run away, but Paul caught him and escaped to Gotham Acres. The police never had enough evidence to convict Paul of Diana's murder, and when Jack was eleven his father remarried a prostitute named Marissa Moore. They never had children, and Mr. Kerr said Marissa and Jack were barely civil with one another.

But the one thing he still didn't know was how Jack got his scars.

* * *

Jeannie punched her pillow angrily, attempting to mold it into a more comfortable position. Jack would be furious if he knew what Mr. Kerr had told her. But she hadn't cared at the time, because she'd never expected him to come back.

She drifted in and out of sleep the entire night, never able to take her mind off of the boy lying on the couch a floor below her.


	14. June 1998: Jealousy

Jeannie's fitful sleep was ended once and for all by the sound of her alarm clock ringing shrilly. "Damn it," she grumbled, slamming her fist on the snooze button. "It's _Saturday_ …"

She finally managed to stagger out of bed with the worry Jack had somehow destroyed the house during the night. Pulling on her bathrobe, she crept downstairs and paused outside of the door to the living room, wondering if she should knock. Was Jack a morning person?

Luckily, she didn't have to ponder the matter further. "Looking for someone, _Jean_ -nie?" a low voice asked beside her.

She'd half-expected him to sneak up on her, so she only flinched. "Did you even sleep at all?" she accused. Jack's hair looked neatly combed, a stark contrast to the circles under his eyes and exhausted expression.

"You don't look so good yourself," he pointed out.

"Has anyone ever told you you're infuriating?" Jeannie grumbled, .

"My, aren't we using large words today." Jack ran his tongue along the inside of his scarred cheeks. "You have an impressive vocabulary, tiger."

Jeannie was beginning to wish she'd made him stay outside in the thunderstorm. "Go wait by the car," she commanded. "I want to have a weekend to myself so I can think up sarcastic comebacks to everything you say."

"Can I drive?" Jack asked, his eyes lighting up.

She shook her head. "Do you even have a license? There is no way I'm letting you total my car."

Jack actually looked hurt. "Of course I know how to drive, _Jean_ -nie. How do you think I got to Gotham in the first place?"

She paused. 'You mean you own a car?"

"Not _anymore_. I had to sell it to buy the apartment."

Jeannie continued to look at him in disbelief. His grin grew wider. "I still don't trust you with my car," she eventually said. "Now, do you want a ride or not?"

* * *

Even though it was still early in the morning, the air was stagnant and humid. A thick smog hung over the entire city, floating above the skyscrapers and seeping into buildings. Everything seemed to be moving more sluggishly than usual, Jeannie noticed. As soon as she got back home, she would turn on the air conditioning. Better to freeze to death than burn to death.

Jack watched her drive with the ghost of a smile on his face. "What's so funny?" Jeannie asked him when she couldn't stand it any longer.

"I never pegged you to be a slow driver," he answered. "It feels as if time is running backwards."

She gestured to the road in front of them. "I'm keeping up with the traffic!"

"Ah, but parked cars don't count as traffic."

Abruptly, Jeannie stamped her foot on the gas. The car shot forward so fast both of them slammed backwards into their seats. "Happy?" she said dangerously.

Jack shrugged. "I think Grandma just passed us."

"You're welcome to join her then," Jeannie snapped. "Funny, I don't remember you being this annoying."

"I don't remember _you_ having such a bad case of PMS," he retorted, flipping on the radio.

Jeannie gritted her teeth and tried to pretend he wasn't there. How could she possibly be attracted to this boy one minute and then be intensely _aggravated_ by him the next? It was impossible to have a serious conversation with him.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the ride, save for Jack giving her directions. Jeannie felt his sharp gaze on her face the entire time. She was sure he was judging her, trying to figure out what she was thinking. It made her uncomfortable and she tried in vain to ignore him.

After fifteen more minutes of navigating through the congested streets of the Narrows, Jeannie pulled up in front of a derelict building with peeling paint and yellowed windows. " _This_ is your apartment?" she asked dubiously.

"What did you expect, Wayne Manor?" Jack said. He paused before opening the door. "Do you still go to the same high school?"

"Uh, yeah," Jeannie replied cautiously. Her attention was diverted for a moment as a scantily-clad woman on the street looked Jack up and down. To her relief, he didn't even glance the prostitute's way. "Why do you ask?"

"Just, ah, wondering." So quickly Jeannie had no time to see it coming, he leaned in and kissed her on the lips. She could barely kiss him back before he pulled away. "So long, tiger."

"Wait!" she called after him, irritated. "Don't I even get a thank-you?"

Jack turned around and winked at her. "Thank you," he mouthed sarcastically.

Well, at least it was better than nothing. Jeannie waited until he had disappeared into the rundown building before revving the engine and pulling back out into the flow of traffic, wondering when she would see him again.

* * *

She spent the rest of the weekend catching up on homework and preparing for her graduation later that week. Emily was the valedictorian and Jeannie had offered to write her speech, seeing as how the other girl was hopeless at writing. Besides, she needed something to take her mind off of…recent events.

What were Jack's motives? Why was he _really_ back in Gotham? And, most importantly…did he consider them to be a couple now?

Ever since a girl named Lacie Stewart had transferred to the school three weeks beforehand, Richard almost completely ignored Jeannie. She'd caught him talking to the beautiful redhead on several occasions and rumor had it they'd gone to dinner together. To be honest, Jeannie wasn't that attached to her boyfriend: she'd dated him more out of politeness and peer pressure than actual interest. She knew Lacie was definitely attracted to him, and she often felt like throwing her hands up and saying, "All right! Just _take_ him already!" Now that graduation was fast approaching, Jeannie knew she would have to do something soon. Richard was moving to Florida for university, and she really didn't want to get involved in a long-distance relationship.

But on the other hand, he was her first boyfriend, and she had absolutely no idea how to break up with him. Emily had offered to leave a note in his locker, but Jeannie refused. What if someone else found it? Richard was the star of the football team and he could make her life hell if he was so inclined. Like the coward she secretly was, she'd made a promise to herself to go to prom with him and break up the next day. Actually, _he'd_ probably break up with _her_ when she refused to sleep with him that night. That would certainly make things a lot easier.

Mr. and Mrs. Kerr came home late on Sunday, tired but satisfied from their stay in New York. They reported that Harriet was doing well and although there had been a small incident where she'd accidentally confessed to drunk sex, things were going well for her. It had been rocky for the first year or so after Alice and Margaret were born, but college appeared to straighten her out. Even though Harriet herself didn't appear to care, Jeannie often wondered how her twin nieces were doing. She'd only gotten to hold them briefly at the hospital before they were whisked off to the Sharpes.

For a short while, Jeannie wrestled with the possibility of telling Mr. Kerr that Jack had returned, but something held her back. He'd want to check up on him and clear everything with the police—something she was sure Jack wouldn't appreciate. For now, at least, she would keep the secret safe. After all, if they _did_ eventually date, her father would have to find out sometime.

* * *

That Monday was the last official day of high school. Everything seemed to pass by in a haze for Jeannie. Like most of the other students, she couldn't believe that they were graduating, ready to emerge into the real world. It seemed like no time had passed since she'd first moved to Gotham as a sulking teenager.

While Jeannie cleared out her locker for the final time, a pair of arms snaked around her waist. "Hey, babe," a husky voice murmured into her ear. "How's it going?"

"Hi, Richard," she said, feeling a shudder of revulsion as his hands moved upward. "Shit, stop _groping_ me! We're in a public hallway!"

"Aw, come on," her boyfriend said, pretending to pout. "You've let me do it before."

She kicked the locker door shut with her foot and turned to face him. "Yeah, but that's all I let you do."

"That'll change come Friday night, though," Richard said. His dark hair stuck to his forehead in sweaty clumps and his hands were sticky with moisture. "Right?"

"Maybe," she muttered, trying to sound ambiguous. "But probably not."

They rounded a corner and Richard waved at one of his friends who held a camera. "Hey, Nick!" he called. "Come get a picture of us!"

Jeannie, who had always hated pictures, stiffened. "What do you mean?" she asked with no small amount of trepidation.

But Richard soon _showed_ her what he meant as he theatrically grabbed her face and began enthusiastically kissing her, much to the amusement of passerby. Jeannie heard Nick's camera clicking feverishly and felt herself shrivel with embarrassment as Richard's hands snaked all over her body. Wolf-whistles ensued as he grabbed her upper thigh and wrapped it tightly around his waist.

Could things get any more humiliating? Jeannie tried to push him away, but he only secured his grip and his tongue shoved deeper into her mouth. The possibility of choking seemed very real now.

"Freak at twelve o'clock," Nick suddenly said under his breath. "He's lookin' at you, dude."

With an obscenely loud squelch _,_ Richard finally pulled away and Jeannie stumbled back, gasping for air. Through her oxygen-deprived brain, she managed to see what the two boys were looking at: a tall, imposing figure with curly blond hair staring straight at them. Even from this distance, she could see his scars.

Jack.

"Take a picture, freak!" Richard yelled at him. "It lasts longer!"

Now everyone in the vicinity was staring at them. Jeannie wished she could melt into the floor and disappear. "Jack—" she began, starting towards him, but with a look that could cut steel he turned around and walked away.

It wasn't the first time she'd been fixed with his cold stare, but this was different. Jeannie was reminded of the time she felt truly afraid of him, shortly after he'd seen her with Bruce Wayne.

He was jealous. Now, she wasn't an expert on psychology like her mother, but she had enough common sense to know that it wasn't a good thing… _especially_ when it was Jack.

"I have to go," she said to Richard, and ran off in the direction he had disappeared.


	15. June 1998: Hurt

Ignoring Richard's calls after her, Jeannie pushed her way through the crowds of students toward where Jack had disappeared. She was angry at herself for telling him where she went to school, and angry at him for showing up at the worst possible time.

Just before she got to the end of the hallway, Emily burst out of one of the classrooms looking frantic. "Jeannie!" she exclaimed, skidding to a stop in front of her. "I just saw-was that… _Jack Napier_?"

Jeannie nodded. "He came back. Listen, Em, which way did he go?"

The other girl pointed at an emergency exit to their left. "But why is he—where are you going?"

"To find him!" Jeannie called over her shoulder. "I'll explain everything to you later!"

It was even warmer outside than it had been on the weekend. Jeannie felt as if she'd stepped into a sauna the second a rush of hot air met her skin. Now she understood why Richard had been so sweaty—he'd probably just finished football practice. The extreme heat was _almost_ enough tomake her wish for winter.

It wasn't long before she noticed a tall, lanky figure walking beside the tennis courts. Jack waved to her almost mockingly. "I knew you would come after me, _Jean_ -nie," he called.

As she got closer, she noticed the hard edge in his eyes hadn't completely disappeared. An irrational surge of satisfaction coursed through her. So he _was_ jealous. He couldn't hide it completely. "Why'd you leave?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I didn't want to, er, _disturb_ you."

Jeannie couldn't stop herself from smiling. "You looked pretty upset for a while there. Is it possible…" she pretended to look confused, "…that Jack Napier was _jealous_?"

He pushed himself off of the wall and leaned toward her. "If I told you the most gorgeous girl in the world lived in the apartment next to mine, would _you_ be jealous?"

Jeannie's eyes narrowed involuntarily. "What's her name?"

Jack laughed and tried to curl his fingers around hers, but she stopped him from getting any closer. "You didn't answer the question."

"And I never will," he said matter-of-factly before changing the subject. "This place hasn't changed, has it?"

Jeannie playfully yanked on his hand. "It's only been three years."

"It feels like longer," Jack remarked. "Last time I saw you, your sister was having a panic attack. What happened with that anyway?"

"Um…she had the babies and three days later they were given away to the Sharpes, who named them Alice and Margaret." Jeannie smirked. "Harriet hated the names—she said they sounded like they were sixty-year-olds. But she couldn't complain since it was her choice to give them up. So the couple took them back to Boston and Harriet's not allowed to see them again until they're eighteen. I don't really think she minds though…" Jeannie trailed off when she caught sight of Richard walking straight toward them.

Her eyes widening, she turned her focus back to Jack, trying to divert his attention. "So…Harriet went back to high school straightaway and graduated last year. I told you she's in New York now…uh, Becky's in L.A. We haven't heard much from her, but she apparently has a surfer boyfriend and wants to live there permanently. And Liam…he's back in Chicago. His girlfriend, Susan, moved there to be with him and everyone's taking bets on how long it'll take them to get married…" She laughed nervously, aware she was babbling.

"That's great, _Jean_ -nie," Jack said. "You told me everything I wanted to know and more. Oh, and your boyfriend's coming over here."

Damn it. He _had_ noticed. Jeannie stiffened as she watched Richard moving ever-closer. Even though Jack was tall, Richard was taller. He eventually stopped in front of them, the tension palpable. Jeannie had the sense she was in a bad soap opera.

"Why'd you run away, babe?" Richard asked, pretending Jack wasn't there. "We were just getting started."

"Were we?" Jeannie said with a nervous laugh. "I was, um, just planning on leaving, actually."

"No you weren't." To her humiliation, Richard made to kiss her again, but Jack stepped smartly in front of her.

For a long moment, the two teenagers stared at each other. Jeannie couldn't see Jack's expression, but it must have been petrifying because Richard broke eye contact first. "So…who's your friend?"

"His name is Jack Napier," she replied. "I've known him since eighth grade."

"Just friends, eh?" Richard said. He sneered, seemingly getting more confident. "You wouldn't choose him, anyway. Not with a face _that_ screwed up."

The next second, Richard was on the ground swearing. His hands were covering his nose and eyes, blood seeping out through his clenched fingers. Jack's punch had been so fast neither he nor Jeannie had realized what happened until it was over.

"What did you _do_?" Jeannie screeched. The memory of Anthony Reynolds, writhing on the ground in agony, flashed into her mind.

"He deserved it," replied Jack. He watched Richard with a detached interest. "Star of the football team, huh? I guess he's not so tough now."

Richard's kick didn't come fast enough for Jack, but Jeannie's reflexes were slower. She saw his foot flying up at her and tried to duck, but his shoe caught her right in the chin and she stumbled back, losing her balance and falling to the gravel below.

The pain was so intense she blacked out for a split second. When she next became aware of the world, Jack's arm was around her shoulders and he was supporting her across the parking lot. Blood was dripping down her face onto her clothes.

"What happened?" she instantly asked, wincing as a sharp pain stabbed at her mouth. "Where's Richard?"

"On the ground where he belongs," Jack said unfeelingly. He opened the car door and pushed her inside.

Jeannie wiped the puddle of blood from her chin and nearly shouted at the pain. "How did you open my car?"

"You left your keys in your pocket," he said, walking around to the other side and climbing in.

"There is _no way_ I am letting you drive my car!" Jeannie yelped, reaching out her arm to stop him.

Jack merely rolled his eyes at her. "Who's in a better position to drive, tiger? _You_ look like you've fallen off a cliff."

Her head was spinning too much for her to think up an answer, so Jeannie closed her eyes and tried to calm herself down as the car sped out of the lot. Jack was a fast driver, but not an insanely reckless driver like she'd imagined him to be. He swore multiple times when the car didn't reach the speed he wanted it to, but wasn't smashing on the gas pedal.

"Where are you taking me?" she finally asked, wiping a fresh stream of blood off her chin and opening her eyes. He'd driven past the intersection that led to her house.

"My apartment," he answered shortly. "Do you want your parents to see you looking like that?"

Jeannie shook her head and spat a glob of blood into her hand. Her entire front was soaked with crimson liquid. Richard must have slammed her teeth into her skull. "He was aiming for you," she said thickly. "Not me, right?"

Jack nodded. "He's lucky he was. If he wasn't…" The failure to complete his sentence was worse than the actual threat. Jeannie shuddered to think what would have happened if Richard really _had_ meant to kick her.

Luckily, there weren't very many people around near the apartment building. Jack parked the car and pulled Jeannie out, ignoring her protests to walk on her own. "Don't worry, no one will be suspicious," he said. "This kind of thing happens all the time here."

Judging by the look of the place, Jeannie didn't doubt it. The interior walls were painted a horrendous peach color and the smell of mothballs was so potent she started to cough. The stairs creaked precariously when weight was placed upon them. But most of all, the entire building reeked of neglect. Jeannie could hear muffled shouting and loud televisions emanating from behind most of the doors.

Jack stopped in front of a door numbered _100_. "Try not to bleed on the furniture," he said jokingly.

It soon became clear that there really _was_ no furniture to bleed on. The apartment seemed to be composed of one large room with only a small door leading off of it. A rickety wooden table with two chairs set next to it sat in the middle of the room. A dusty-looking couch was placed under an equally-dusty looking window. On the opposite end of the room there was nothing but an oven, a sink, and a refrigerator. Most of the wallpaper was peeling off and floorboards were coming apart.

"How can you live here?" Jeannie said in disgust.

Jack flicked on the light, which didn't do much, and gave a noncommittal shake of the head. "It's all I can afford, _Jean_ -nie. The police don't know my stepmother is dead, and my father left nothing to me."

"So where'd you get the money to buy this?"

"This and that. What matters is it's better than nothing." Jack turned on the sink and stuck a washcloth under the spray before tossing it to Jeannie. "Take off your clothes."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"I need to get the blood off your shirt." He sighed exasperatedly at her angry glare. "Fine, then. Go take a shower, but it only has cold water."

"Better than nothing," Jeannie retorted.

Jack rolled his eyes and pointed at the door. "The bathroom's through there."

After several moments of struggling, Jeannie managed to twist the knob open and found herself in a tiny bedroom. The bed had obviously seen better days, and the only other piece of furniture was a small dresser. _Men._ How could they live like this?

The bathroom was just off the bedroom, seeming almost like an afterthought. It was so small Jeannie wondered if it was originally built to be the closet. When she turned on the shower, the water that flowed out was tinted an odd green. Did the Narrows get its water straight from Gotham's sewer system?

After the promised freezing shower, Jeannie wrapped herself in the only towel she could find and rinsed out her clothes in the sink. Her face still ached and a grisly bruise was forming under her chin. A quick inspection of her mouth thankfully revealed she had no loose teeth.

When her clothes had dried well enough, she put them back on and left the bathroom. Jack was sitting on the bed waiting for her. "Took you long enough," he remarked sarcastically. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd drowned."

"Sorry your wish didn't come true," Jeannie shot back.

"Wait five minutes and I'll show you how long a shower _really_ takes," said Jack. He gestured to his similarly stained shirt. "Getting a liter of blood on my clothes wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I planned to visit you today."

"That'll teach you to leave me alone!" she called as he disappeared. Groaning, Jeannie stretched back on his uncomfortable bed and waited for him to come back out, wondering if she should just leave. Even though his three-bedroom apartment wasn't the most comfortable place in the world, she found she didn't mind staying a while longer.

Her eyes wandered along the cracks in the ceiling, thinking about the events of the day. She didn't know what to tell Richard—it looked like she would have to break up with him sooner than she'd thought. In fact, he was probably at her house now, asking Mrs. Kerr where she was…

Jeannie nearly jumped out of her skin when a loud buzz sounded at the front door. "Jack!" she said loudly. "There's someone here!"

He didn't respond. She sat up and walked over to the bathroom door, rapping on it with her fist. The sound of the shower still didn't cut off.

Thirty seconds later, there was another loud buzz. "Hello?" a horrifyingly familiar male voice said. "Is anyone here?"

If Jeannie had been older, she would most certainly have had a heart attack. In desperation, she kicked the bathroom door. To her relief, the shower finally turned off and a second later Jack looked out. "Come on, it's not been five minutes yet!" he said.

"My dad is at the door!" Jeannie moaned. " _Do something_!"

His entire face changed. Opening the door fully, he strode out into the bedroom wearing only a towel. Jeannie was embarrassingly pleased by this, but even so she grabbed his shirt and threw it at him. "At least put this on!" she hissed.

Giving her an exasperated look, he pulled it over his head and shut the bedroom door behind him. Jeannie immediately pressed her ear up against the wood, happy the walls were thin. She would be able to hear every word they said.

There was a short pause when Jack opened the front door. "Hello, _sir_ ," he said. Jeannie hoped Mr. Kerr couldn't hear the slight undertone of sarcasm. "I'm afraid you've caught me at a bad time."

"Jack Napier?" her father asked in surprise.

"Good observation! I didn't think you'd recognize me," Jack replied, his mocking tone evident now.

Mr. Kerr was silent for a moment before saying, "Where's Jeannie? I was patrolling the area when I saw her car parked outside. The landlady told me she'd seen a teenage couple coming in here."

"I haven't seen her, sir," Jack said. "But if I do, I'll tell her you showed up."

A tickling sensation was burning in the back of Jeannie's nose. _No!_ She clamped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late. She sneezed loudly, cursing her own bad luck. From outside, Jack snorted but quickly stopped himself. Mr. Kerr cleared his throat loudly.

Well, now they were done for.


	16. June 1998: Mystery

_Why_ , oh _why_ did her father have to show up _now?_ Jeannie cursed Jack's shoddy apartment with its sneeze-inducing dust.

If she were to write a book, it would be called _Betrayed by A Sneeze._ A stupid, worthless, overwrought cliché. She'd never known it would happen to her in real life. God, now she had to explain everything to her parents.

"I thought you said she wasn't here, Jack," Mr. Kerr announced in his most intimidating police-officer voice, the one that still made his children run for cover. When he spoke like that, an outburst was sure to follow.

"I'm sorry, sir. I was just trying to protect her," Jack replied. "You get all sorts of, uh, strange people living here."

Jeannie wished he'd kept his mouth shut. His snarky reply would only make her father angrier. Slowly, she opened the bedroom door and stepped out. "Hi, Dad," she said weakly. "I guess you found me, huh?"

Mr. Kerr's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as he stared at her. She was suddenly struck with how everything must seem: Jack was wearing nothing but a shirt and towel, and her clothes were still wet enough that they clung to her body. "We were just taking a shower," she quickly explained. "Not together, obviously, I mean, there was a bit of an accident at school so Jack drove me back here and…"

"An accident?" Mr. Kerr asked. He walked further into the room and shut the front door. "What do you mean?"

"Her boyfriend kicked her in the face," Jack said cheerfully. "I had to—"

"It wasn't intentional," she interjected. Before her father's face could turn even redder, she gave him the full story of what had happened, minus Jack's punch.

Mr. Kerr was quiet for a long time as her words sank in. When he did speak again, his voice was so low it was barely audible. "Why is it," he began, "Every time he stands up for you, _you_ get hurt? First you were in the hospital with a concussion, now this."

"It's not Jack's fault, Dad."

He didn't look convinced. "Don't think you're off the hook just yet, young man," he said. "The police chief just informed me that the bodies of Paul and Marissa Napier have been found in a Toronto apartment."

Jack feigned surprise. "You mean it's taken them this long?" he asked.

"What's more is the records state you were living with Marissa up until her death. I hope you have a good lawyer, Jack, because this case will definitely be taken to court."

Jeannie froze, forgetting about her own problems for the moment. What if Jack was found guilty of Paul's murder and sent to prison? Wasn't it legal to kill someone in self-defense?

But to her surprise, he didn't look fazed at all. "I found the bodies when I came home one day, _sir._ I was afraid and didn't know what to do, so I came back to Gotham and bought this apartment last week. I thought that I would be blamed for the murders if I told the police, since I don't, uh, have the greatest record."

He was a good liar, Jeannie thought. _She_ almost believed him, and she knew the truth. But would it stand up to a hardened police officer?

Her father looked as though he didn't know what to say. "This is not in my place to ask, Jack, but was Paul living with you at the time of his death?"

Jack shook his head. "I haven't seen him for three years. I thought he was caught and sent back to Blackgate."

Mr. Kerr shook his head. "He was the only one we couldn't find. Falcone, Gambol, Maroni and Carla Viti were all discovered and sent back to prison within a week of the escape. Paul Napier was the only one the police couldn't find…they dropped the investigation after a year."

"Well, I have no idea where he was, sir," Jack answered. "But I can't say I'm sorry."

"I imagine you wouldn't," Mr. Kerr said. He looked back and forth between Jeannie and Jack before saying, "Is this what he told you?"

Jeannie nodded. "Word for word."

She knew she would have given herself away if she'd glanced at Jack, so she kept her eyes fixed firmly on her father, praying everything would turn out all right. She just had to know Jack would win at court and she would break up with Richard. After that everything would be fine.

"We should get you to the hospital, Jeannie," Mr. Kerr said, abruptly changing the subject. "If you can talk, I'm sure you're fine, but I just want to make sure."

It probably wasn't wise to argue with him, so Jeannie nodded mutely and started to follow him out the door. As she passed Jack, he whispered "See you tomorrow, tiger."

Her heart thudded unevenly as she left the apartment. When had everything suddenly become so complicated?

* * *

The doctors determined the scars on her chin would eventually heal and she would only be sore for a couple of weeks. Jeannie left the hospital feeling oddly woozy, as if the chemicals in the air had somehow seeped into her brain.

Before they got into their separate cars, Mr. Kerr said, "By the way, Liam and Susan are coming back to Gotham tomorrow. I don't know how long they're staying, so be prepared in case you need to lend out your bedroom."

"Can't they sleep in the spare room?" Jeannie asked.

Her father's glare was such that she mutely unlocked her car as fast as she could and climbed in. It seemed like he was choosing to ignore that they already lived together in Chicago.

Thinking about living together with a partner made her think about Jack. Mr. Kerr was angry enough at the fact they'd spent an _hour_ together, let alone a night. Besides, it was clear he didn't think Jack was the most trustworthy of people.

How did that saying go? "The good girls always like the bad boys"? Well, if one were to count Jeannie as a "good" girl and Jack as a "bad" boy, that was certainly true.

She continued musing as she turned on the car and pulled out of the hospital parking lot. She wanted to stop off at Jack's on the way home, but it was already getting dark and Mr. Kerr would certainly know if she was delayed. Jeannie squinted at the rearview mirror, trying to locate her father's police car. Luckily for her, she appeared to have been swallowed up in the congested rush hour traffic. At least he wouldn't be able to punish her for speeding.

When she was halfway home, she noticed an oddly-shaped figure crumpled on the side of the road. Jeannie slowed down and, on closer inspection, realized it was Edward Nashton, facedown on the sidewalk. Her eyes widened; Emily had told her he was at a "gifted" school miles away from Gotham. What was he doing here?

Jeannie pulled over and leapt out of the car to kneel down beside Edward. His breathing was shallow and his blond hair was streaked with a crimson liquid. Gently, she turned him over. "Edward?" she breathed.

His eyes flickered open and he stared blankly for a moment before focusing on her. "Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Where in the world am I'? Ah, that's the great puzzle!"

"What are you doing here?" Jeannie asked hesitantly. When he didn't reply, she tried again. "Edward, why are—"

"Not Edward," the young man snapped, suddenly angry. "Puzzle. Enigma. _Riddler_."


	17. June 1998: Uncertainty

_If she had known the consequences of her actions, she would never have dared to leave her apartment that day. In fact, she would never have dared to leave her apartment ever again._

_She'd dimly realized, of course, that bad things happened to good people. But, like everyone, she had never thought such things would happen to_ her. _She was nineteen, beautiful, intelligent and popular. What could possibly go wrong?_

_The answer, of course, was everything._

_Diana Grant had been born in New York City, and thought she was an expert on avoiding danger. Her parents tried to dissuade her when she was accepted to Gotham University, but she ignored their warnings and moved there anyway. The horror that supposedly went on in the city was exaggerated, she figured. Besides, the university had one of the best reputations in the country._

_Things were fine for her first year. She rented an apartment in the "safe" part of the city and her roommate owned a car, so there was no need to take public transportation. Whenever her parents expressed concern she would laugh and tell them she was perfectly fine._

_On a warm spring night in April, Diana decided to take a shortcut home. Her roommate was out of town and she had forgotten her monorail pass, so she was forced to walk. She was tired and not in the mood for a long trek, so she decided to take her chances and venture into the Narrows._

_She knew the dangers, of course, but she was confident she would make it out safely. She believed she was an invincible city girl._

_For a while, this seemed like it would prove true. She made it three-quarters of the way through without a problem. She was just turning the last corner and silently congratulating herself on her luck when she was suddenly yanked into a dark alleyway. Diana screamed, but a huge hand clamped over her mouth._

_She stared, terrified, into the face of a huge man. He towered over her, his muscles rippling beneath his torn shirt. His blond hair was shaved in a buzz cut and his black eyes were like embers straight from hell. He kept one hand on Diana's mouth and unbuckled his jeans with the other. She kicked and punched him with all her might, realizing what was happening. But Paul Napier was much too strong for her. He kept her pinned against the wall as he ripped her clothes off and brutally raped her._

_Diana sobbed soundlessly the entire time, both from the pain and the realization she'd lost a part of herself forever. She had no strength to fight when Paul dragged her back to his apartment and shoved her inside, locking the door behind him. When she woke up the next morning, she tried to escape, but his room was on the highest floor and her only way out was a tiny balcony that meant she would have to jump. He had two of his men guarding the front door and when she managed to pick the lock, they forced her back into the apartment._

_When Paul came back the next day, he found Diana shaking and sobbing. She was traumatized for the whole ordeal, and spilled out every last bit of information about herself, hoping he would contact her family. But he didn't, and gradually grew possessive of his new find. Paul had raped countless women, but he'd never locked one up inside his apartment before. The idea of breaking Diana's spirit appealed to him and he refused to let her outside, playing dumb to the police who were wandering around the Narrows trying to find her. To the outside world, Diana Grant had simply disappeared._

_Paul kept her locked up for the next month, ordering his guards once a day to give her minimal food and water. When he felt like it, he would visit her himself and take advantage of her vulnerable state. Breaking something so innocent and previously untarnished was wonderful to him._

_At first, Diana prowled the tiny, darkened apartment, trying to escape. But with nothing but a balcony, thirty-one floors up, and a guarded front door, she had nothing. She tried to scream from the balcony, but the guards heard her and beat her into submission. When Paul came back the next day, he further humiliated her by making her strip naked in front of several of his friends. He was caught up with the gangsters and mobsters and made no effort to hide his illegal activities._

_Diana's spirit gradually began to wane, until her struggles died completely and she resigned herself to a life lived in captivity. She was often ill and rapidly gaining weight. She began to slit her wrists and consider committing suicide. She would rather take her own life than have Paul steal it from her._

_But just as she began to seriously make plans, she realized she was pregnant. Terrified, she knew that she couldn't kill her innocent baby as well. Maybe Paul would take it once it was born and it could grow up free somewhere._

_Diana hid her pregnancy for as long as she could, formulating plans and thinking up possible escape routes, until Paul commented on her weight gain. She finally told him and he was, of course, furious. He didn't want to kill her yet, but he knew that if he tried anything with the baby so soon she would likely die as well._

_So one day he brought her to an underground abortion clinic. Diana was outside for the first time in four months and nearly fainted at the sight of the outside world. But once Paul reached the clinic he discovered the owner had recently been caught by the police. Not wanting to be arrested as well, he grudgingly brought Diana back to his apartment, allowing her to keep the baby. He believed when it grew old enough, he could sell it to the mob for profit._

_Diana went into labor exactly nine months after they first met, on January thirteenth. Her agonized screams alerted the ever-present guards, and they contacted Paul at once. Since it was the middle of the night, he was reluctant to show up but knew that he couldn't let his toy die just yet. She gave birth fifteen hours later to a son._

_Paul was jubilant; a boy would be much more useful to the mob than a girl. As a reward, he promised Diana he would take her outside from time to time and let her name the baby._

_She christened him Jack Andrew Napier. Jack was the name of her baby brother who had died from pneumonia at the age of two, and Andrew was her father's name._

_From the moment Diana looked into her newborn son's eyes, she knew she had to protect him. She would save him from his father even if it killed her._

* * *

After all that had happened in the last week, it seemed almost humorous, ridiculously mundane, for Jeannie to go back to work. It was hard to remember people's orders and scrub tables when her head was still so filled with Jack and his kisses, the way he looked shirtless…

To make matters even worse, her graduation was the very next day and her entire family would be there. Liam and Susan were flying in from Chicago, Rebecca was taking the train from Los Angeles, and Harriet would drive down from New York. Jeannie was excited but nervous about having everyone together—she wasn't used to sibling conflicts anymore.

Partway through her shift, she felt someone tap on her shoulder. Turning in surprise, Jeannie saw it was a sheepish-looking Emily. "I called your house and your mom said you were at work," she began. "When's your next break?"

Jeannie glanced around the restaurant. It was a late Thursday night; Gotham's elite appeared to have better things to do than go out to dinner. The only other people in sight were a young couple not much older than Jeannie, but they appeared to be in deep conversation. "Now."

Emily slid into the nearest booth and motioned for Jeannie to sit across from her. When she was sure they were out of earshot of the couple, she said, "Edward's in Arkham."

"I— _what_?" Jeannie paused halfway through untying her apron. "How could they have come to a decision so quickly?"

"He, um…he tried to kill one of the nurses at Gotham General," Emily muttered, her voice dipping even lower. "My parents figured he would be better off at the asylum where they have specially trained guards for people…like him."

This came as a great shock to Jeannie. Edward had seemed harmless the four years she'd known him. Perhaps he did enjoy solving riddles a bit _too_ much and was obsessive-compulsive, but Jeannie never would have guessed he would be capable of attempted murder.

"Listen, Jeannie…he was never at a gifted school," Emily whispered. "I lied to everyone. He was at an institution for the mentally ill up in Blüdhaven. He escaped a week ago."

"That must have been why I found him," said Jeannie. She winced and turned her head to stare out the dark window. "It's all right though, Em. I understand why you didn't want to tell the truth."

"I just don't know what to do," her friend moaned. "Our graduation is tomorrow and my parents won't even _be_ there because they'll be looking after him…I'm just glad I'm going to Washington for college."

Jeannie could do nothing but look at her pityingly. Having a brother in Arkham was bad enough, but having a brother in Arkham for attempted murder was even worse.

"Excuse me," a polite, distinguished voice said from above them. "We're ready to pay the bill now."

She looked up into the face of one-half of the teenage couple. His outrageously handsome features were oddly familiar…"Bruce Wayne?" Jeannie said without thinking.

He gave a small, embarrassed smile. "Yes, I am."

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, jumping up so fast she cracked her knee on the edge of the table. "My manager would be so angry with me if he knew I kept you waiting—not that I have a bad manager. He's just a perfectionist…" she continued babbling as she hurried over to Bruce's table.

He followed after her at a more leisurely pace. His smile had turned to a frown. "I don't mean to be rude…but do I know you from somewhere?"

Jeannie nodded and quickly related the details of their encounter three years ago in front of Wayne Tower. Bruce's perplexed expression quickly smoothed out and he nodded. "I remember you now! Jeannie Kerr. I apologize for never inviting you to dinner. I was shipped off to Europe before I could follow up on the invitation."

"But you're more than welcome to have dinner with him now," his companion spoke up for the first time. She was very pretty, with long brown hair and large, doe like eyes. "I assure you he can afford it."

Bruce smiled. "Thanks, Rachel. Honestly," he turned back to Jeannie, "I can stay a little bit longer, if you'd care to join us."

She laughed. "I'm afraid I have a shift to finish and then I need to get home. Thanks for the offer, though."

"See, Bruce, not every female under the age of twenty is in love with you," his friend teased. She held out a hand to Jeannie. "I'm Rachel Dawes. Casanova here and I have been friends since childhood."

Jeannie smiled. She could tell by the way they looked at each other and the way their bodies unconsciously mimicked each other's showed that they both yearned to be much _more_ than friends. She wondered what was stopping a boy like Bruce Wayne from going after the girl he wanted.

After the check was signed, the young billionaire slipped a fifty-dollar note into Jeannie's hand. "For the dinner we never had," he grinned. "I hope it's enough."

" _Bruce!"_ Rachel looked disapproving. "You can't just buy people off."

"Believe me, you can," Jeannie assured her. "Thanks, Mr. Wayne."

"No problem." He shrugged and gave her a small wink that was eerily reminiscent of Jack. Jeannie watched them leave the restaurant, feeling wistful. She crossed her fingers that the two of them would eventually get together. They had an obvious connection between them that was so rare to find in couples these days.

"You know Bruce Wayne?" Emily asked as she came up behind Jeannie, starstruck.

"Kind of." She looked down at the crisp bill in her hand and back up at Emily. "Seeing as how he couldn't make it, will you be my dinner date for tonight?"

* * *

The Kerr siblings all arrived in Gotham early the following morning. Harriet showed up at the house first, sporting a new tattoo and a devil-may-care look. Liam and Susan arrived next, holding hands and looking like the madly in love couple they were. (Jeannie made sure to get a picture of her brother's face when Mr. Kerr informed them they would have to sleep in separate rooms). Rebecca's train was several hours late, but she still managed to show up at the door in time.

Just as the seven of them were ready to leave, the doorbell rang yet again. "Why don't you get that, Jeannie?" Liam asked. He shared a conspiratorial glance with Mrs. Kerr, who, Jeannie noticed, had a camera pointed at her.

With no small amount of trepidation, she walked over to the front door and peered out. There, standing on the front step, were two faces she hadn't seen in almost five years. Both of them had grown taller and their features had matured, but there was no doubt as to who they were.

"Oh my God," was all Jeannie could say as she fell into the arms of Oliver Hammet and Miranda Parker. "What—why— _how_ —"

"Liam invited us," Miranda grinned. She was as pale and freckly as ever. Her red hair gleamed in the sunlight and her voice was still high-pitched and excitable. "Our grad was last week, and we both had enough money saved up to make it here."

"I hope you don't mind," said Oliver, smiling uncertainly. His voice was much deeper than Jeannie remembered, and his dark features seemed to be even more prominent. He was taller than Jack, but where Jack was lithe and lean, Oliver was muscular and heavyset.

When Jeannie had gotten over the shock of seeing her two Chicagoan best friends again, she pulled them inside. Her family was smiling at the three friends, much like adults smiled at excited little children. In a way, Jeannie supposed, that was exactly how they were acting.

"Shall we get this show on the road?" Mr. Kerr asked when Miranda's squeals had died down. "We have to be at the school in fifteen minutes."

After they'd all piled into their respective cars and settled down, Jeannie remembered that Jack had promised to show up at the graduation. How would he react to meeting "Ollie boy" for the first time? How would Oliver react to meeting _him_? Jeannie had invited him over for dinner that night. Would it be a comfortable meal, or an awkward encounter?

It looked like the day was churning out "what if" after "what if". At the very least, it would be exciting.


	18. June 1998: Graduation

_Partly as a joke and partly to ensure that he could receive government benefits, Paul filed for a marriage license. The search for his young hostage had ceased long ago; besides, he was confident that no one would make the connection between Diana Grant and Diana Napier._

_By the time Jack was born, Paul had become a drug dealer. He was making an excellent profit and, feeling generous, supplied his wife and son with extra food and even an occasional book. Though he would still routinely rape Diana, he was often seeing other women on the side. Despite his promiscuity, he'd developed a sick attachment to his captive wife (if one could even call her that) and it was impossible for him to let her go._

_True to his word, he brought her and Jack out for walks once a week. Diana looked forward to this most of all; even though she had a gun pressed to her back the entire time she reveled in the fact that there was a world outside of the tiny apartment she'd been stuck in for countless months. The promise of a glimpse outside and obligation to her infant son kept her from going through with the suicide she'd considered for so long._

_She tried to raise Jack as normally as she could, shielding him from the terrible reality of what was really going on. As he grew, she encouraged Paul to spend time and act like a father to him. However, her pleas fell on deaf ears: he treated his son more like a pawn than a human being._

_As the months passed, Jack soon grew into a quiet, intelligent toddler. He rarely spoke, but when he did his words were clear and articulate, expressing opinions and views not typical for a child of his age. He began to question the world around him and often asked Diana why they couldn't go outside very often._

_Her voice breaking, Diana answered that the world was a dangerous place and Paul loved them so much he didn't want them to get hurt. Jack was confused by this; his father would punch and kick his mother when she upset him. Sometimes he would even turn on Jack as well and the little boy would run into his bedroom crying. Paul didn't treat either of them like he loved them._

_When Jack was alone in his room, he would cover his ears so he couldn't hear his parents screaming. He wanted to help his mother, but he knew_ he _would get hurt if he tried. So he climbed into his sleeping bag and pulled the pillow over his head, pretending he was flying over Gotham. He would dream that he was a bird and he could fly higher and higher to a place where no one would ever find him…_

_But his dreams were always interrupted by his mother's sobs or his father's yells. Jack would hold on to his dream as tightly as he could and helplessly watch as it slipped through his fingers. He wanted to run outside, to play, to make friends. He wanted to be far, far away from the place where his mother cowered and his father lunged._

_All Jack Napier wanted was to be happy._

* * *

They weren't even halfway to the high school when Jeannie began to notice something different about Oliver and Miranda. When she had known them in elementary school, they'd been civil but aloof towards one another. Oliver disliked Miranda's bubbliness, and Miranda disliked Oliver's sullen moods. But now…they were laughing a little _too_ loudly at each other's jokes and once in a while they would share a secret look between them that made Jeannie feel like a third wheel. She wanted to voice her thoughts aloud, but was afraid of seeming like an idiot if she was wrong.

"…And so I walked away from Eric. Just like _that_ ," Miranda said, snapping her fingers. She grinned like the Cheshire Cat at Oliver, who smiled affectionately at her.

"That's great," Jeannie said weakly, even though she hadn't heard a word of the story. Clearing her throat, she attempted to start a new topic that would take her mind off of whatever was going on between her two friends. "Oliver…why haven't I heard from you in four years?"

He frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Remember when we sent emails back and forth for about a week and you just _stopped replying_?" Jeannie tried her best to make her glare convincing.

"No, _you_ were the one who stopped replying. After that I assumed you'd forgotten about me and had gone off with that Jack person. Mir told me you'd visited Chicago that summer but I was on vacation…then Mom and I moved to Washington for a year." Oliver shrugged nonchalantly. "It was too hard to keep in touch after that."

Jeannie was shocked by this new revelation. His email must have gotten lost in cyberspace and never made it to her inbox. Their friendship had slowly faded away all because of a stupid unsent email. She wasn't sure if she should be angry or amused.

Thanks to Harriet's not-so-careful driving, they arrived at the school five minutes early. Oliver and Miranda jumped out of the car immediately, while Jeannie hung back. She wasn't excited in the least about her graduation—she'd already had to sit through three. She didn't expect hers would be any different, except this time _she_ would be the one walking across the stage.

"Hey! Jeannie!" a distant voice called out to her. Turning, she realized with horror that it was Richard. _Shit_. She hadn't given any more thought to breaking up with him.

"Is that your boyfriend?" Miranda giggled. She and Oliver shared a knowing look.

"Not for much longer," muttered Jeannie. She began to walk toward him. "Go inside, guys," she instructed. "I'll catch up to you later."

To his credit, Richard seemed genuinely concerned about her. "How's your head, babe?" he asked as soon as she hurried up to him. "I was going to call you, but—"

"It's over," Jeannie blurted out. It was now or never. She knew that if she had to wait and muster up the courage to tell him, she wouldn't be able to do it.

"What's over?" Richard asked, confused.

"Our relationship. I know you're cheating on me with Lacie Stewart."

The previous spark of respect she'd had for him disappeared at once as panic flashed across his face. He didn't look like he was alarmed at being falsely accused; he looked as if he was searching for a way to get out of the situation. "Babe, it was just—"

" _Then_ ," Jeannie continued, "You start a fight with one of my best friends and kick me in the face. I don't care if it was an accident or not. It's _over_ , Richard." Before he could sputter any sort of feeble excuse, she spun on her heel and walked away.

He didn't bother calling after her, which told her all she needed to know. Jeannie felt nothing but relief; it was finally over.

As soon as she entered the school, the dull roar of the crowd inside the auditorium reached her ears. She had just enough time to duck into the backroom and pull on her gown and hat. The gown was a size too large and the hat perched awkwardly on her head, but it would have to do.

When she reached the auditorium, Jeannie managed to slip unnoticed into the horde of her fellow graduates and slip into the seat beside Emily. "Memorized your speech yet?" she whispered.

"Kind of," her friend whispered back. "Mom and Dad are here."

"I thought you said they couldn't come."

"They changed their minds at the last minute. Edward's under tight security at Gotham General for the moment."

Jeannie smiled. "That's great. See, everything turned out in the end."

"It better stay this way," Emily muttered ominously. "Speaking of which, have you seen Richard?"

"I just broke up with him, actually." Jeannie quickly recounted their recent meeting. "You should have seen the look on his face, Em. It was priceless."

"I'll bet it was," Emily chuckled.

The principal called them to order then, and everyone fell silent. Jeannie tried her hardest to pay attention as he delivered his customary speech about how it was a pleasure to teach them and how every single graduate would accomplish great things in their lifetime.

Emily the valedictorian went up next, delivering the speech Jeannie had written. To her dismay, she realized it sounded much worse out loud than it did on paper. She shrank in her seat, hoping no one would notice her bright red cheeks and guilty expression.

When Emily finally sat down again, the principal began to call out names. There was a scattering of applause each time someone crossed the stage, occasionally with cheers or whoops. As "Sandra Kaplan" was receiving her diploma, Jeannie shared a nervous glance with Emily. She gave an encouraging thumbs-up in return.

"Jennifer Kerr!"

The crowd clapped politely, but there was no mistaking the distant whistle coming from the back of the room. Jeannie made her way to the stage and briefly looked out at the crowd. Even with the lights trained on her, she could just make out the silhouette of a figure sitting in the back corner with curly blond hair. Her face broke out into a smile: Jack had been true to his word.

The principal shook her hand and gave her the diploma. It was all over, just like that. Jeannie had officially graduated high school. So far, she didn't feel any different.

But her mind was more preoccupied with thoughts of Jack than thoughts of her graduation. She kept her eyes on him as she took her seat again, still smiling widely.

After the rest of the students had gone up and the special awards were given out, the principal ended the ceremony with another long-winded, elaborate speech about the new doors and opportunities that were now open and available for the graduates. Jeannie strongly suspected most of her classmates would end up working at fast-food joints or dead-end office jobs, but if everyone else wanted to be optimistic then she wasn't about to stop them.

The second they were dismissed her family was upon her like a swarm of bees. Mrs. Kerr insisted on taking hundreds of different pictures: Jeannie with Mr. Kerr and Liam, with Harriet and Rebecca, with Oliver and Miranda…Her mother's eyes were so blurred with tears she couldn't help but wonder how she could even see through the lens.

To Jeannie's great relief, the picture-taking finally ceased and she was free to change out of her gown. All around her, the excited graduates were giving hugs and signing yearbooks left and right. Jeannie found herself hugging and talking with people who had never acknowledged her existence before. Even though she tried to be polite and remember everyone's names, she was careful to keep far away from Richard, who was prowling the room with several of his friends. The girl he'd cheated on her with, Lacie Stewart, appeared to not even notice him. Jeannie felt a strong sense of satisfaction at this; she'd obviously realized what a lowlife he was. It seemed strange to think she herself had once been attracted to him.

Not long after the ceremony, Emily and her parents left. Jeannie bid them goodbye and watched them leave with a heavy heart, thinking of Edward. It was still a shock to her that he was being moved to Arkham Asylum…his psychological problems must have been deeper than anyone realized.

Just as she was thinking of ways to cheer her best friend up, someone grabbed her around the waist. Jeannie was fully ready to whirl around and slap Richard, but instead a husky voice murmured, "It's just me, tiger. Calm down."

"Jack," she breathed, leaning back into his embrace. A small part of her brain was vaguely aware that they were surrounded by curious onlookers, but she could care less at the moment. "I knew you'd come."

"I take it you heard me then," he chuckled, taking her hand and leading her away to an isolated corner. "So, uh, con-grat-u- _lations_ on your graduation. Just think: you have four years of university and then you get to spend the rest of your life working at a boring job filing papers."

"Hey, I never said I would do that!" Jeannie protested. "I want to be a teacher."

"That's even better. You get to spend the rest of your life at school." Jack gave a mocking grin. "I'm sure you're the _envy_ of all the students."

Jeannie playfully cuffed him on the shoulder. "Stop it."

He merely grinned wider, but now he seemed distracted: his eyes focused on something in the distance. All of a sudden, Jack snaked his arms around her waist and yanked her even closer, bringing his mouth an inch from hers. "Play along," he whispered, his breath dancing across her lips and making them tingle.

Jeannie tried to turn her head to see what he had been looking at, but he prevented her from moving. "Stay still, _Jean_ -nie." When she grudgingly obliged, he closed the space between their lips and gently kissed her, seeming uncharacteristically restrained. Jeannie was confused for a moment, but the confusion instantly turned to understanding as she heard several giggles and gasps.

When Jack released her, she saw that Miranda and Oliver were standing next to them. Miranda's hand was covering her mouth and she looked as if she was about to burst out laughing, while Oliver looked disgusted and surprised. Jeannie could see her family walking toward them, though they didn't appear to have seen anything.

"Is this—is this _Jack_?" Miranda asked between fits of choking giggles.

"Yes," Jeannie said guardedly. "Do you have a problem?"

"No," her friend managed to say. "I just—that was _hot_!"

"So you're the Napier boy she was talking about," Oliver said. "I didn't know you were still friends."

"Funny—I didn't know _you_ were still friends with her," replied Jack cheerfully. "The famous Ollie boy, am I right?"

"Ollie boy?" Miranda gasped. She dissolved into laughter again.

Oliver, however, didn't look the least bit amused. He glared at Jack and Jeannie could sense the budding dislike between them. It was similar to the animosity between Richard and Jack, but strangely more intense. She whispered, "Are you still coming to dinner tonight?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, love," Jack answered gleefully.

"Wonderful," she muttered. This was going to be a _long_ night.


	19. June 1998: Dinner

_It is said there comes a moment once in every person's life that changes them forever. Perhaps it is a tragic accident or a horrifying epiphany. Usually they occur wh_ _en said individual is a teenager or young adult._

_Unfortunately for Jack, his life-altering moment happened when he was only five years old._

_The weather was hot, even for June. It felt as if all of the warm air in the city was concentrated in their apartment, stifling and boiling them alive. Jack wandered from room to room, sweat pouring off him in buckets. He wanted Diana to read him a story, but she was very quiet and hadn't said much all day. Jack was worried about his mother; she hadn't been herself in a while. He'd peppered her with questions, wondering what was wrong, but she would just give him a sad smile and turn away. Jack wondered if it was because his father was hurting her more than usual. Whenever Paul came over he would drop off food and maybe a toy if they were lucky. Then Diana would lock Jack in his room and he was ordered to go to sleep immediately. Sometimes he heard moans and cries coming from the next room, but it didn't sound like his father was beating her those times. Paul said they were just "having fun", but Jack wanted to know why he had to be locked inside his room. He would sit cross-legged on the floor and drive his toy trucks around. Sometimes if he was bored he would count how many times his parents made noises. He wondered what could possibly be so wonderful as to make them moan like that. Maybe it was food. Jack had a small piece of cake once, for his fifth birthday, and he'd made a similar noise. Maybe his parents were eating. If so, he thought it was rude of them not to share._

_But Paul hadn't shown up for a week and Jack was hungry. He wanted to go for a walk and show his mother the snakeskin he'd found last time he was outside. He'd wanted to keep it, but Paul had said that if he did he would beat him up until he couldn't see straight. Even so, Jack had still wanted it. One time he managed to pluck a flower and gave it to Diana. She'd been so pleased and promised to keep it forever. Jack smiled, remembering the look on her face._

_His momentary happiness was soon replaced by worry when he heard the front door bang open. Jack poked his head around the corner, hoping his father had brought food. But Paul's hands were empty and his breath held the stench of alcohol. He was drunk._

" _Where's your mother?" he growled at Jack._

" _In—in there," Jack said, pointing at Diana's bedroom. "She's been hiding for a long time."_

_Paul stomped over to his wife's room and kicked open the door. Jack heard his mother squeal and his father barked something he couldn't hear. His stomach growled for the millionth time that day and he wrapped his arms around himself to make it stop._

_It wasn't long before Diana came hurrying out of her bedroom, looking stricken. She ran to Jack and wrapped her arms around him. "Go to your room, honey," she ordered._

" _But I'm hungry," Jack complained. "I haven't eaten today."_

" _I'll get you food in a little bit. Please just go play with your toys."_

" _No, Diana. He's staying right here." Paul appeared in the doorway as well, crossing his arms over his massive chest. "You tell me right now what's going on, you little slut."_

_Jack heard his mother gasp and he stroked her hair soothingly, trying to calm her down. He hated it when she cried. "Paul…" she began, "I don't know how to say this to you….but I'm…I'm…"_

" _What?" Jack's father screamed. He took another step towards them and Diana pressed herself tightly against the wall, as if hoping she would melt into it and disappear._

" _I'm pregnant," she finally whispered, closing her eyes tightly._

" _What does that mean?" Jack asked. He looked nervously over her shoulder at Paul, who was turning white and appeared to be swelling up like the balloon animals he had seen clowns make at the circus._

" _I'm going to have another baby," Diana said. "You'll have a little brother or sister, Jackie."_

_His eyes widened in amazement—finally, he would have someone to play with! but before he could pester her with more questions, a gigantic hand swung Diana out of Jack's grasp. He stared in shock at his mother lying motionless on the floor. His father had hit her before, but never this hard. "No!" Jack protested. In a sudden burst of fearlessness, he kicked his father in the shin. "Stop it!"_

" _Shut the hell up, you worthless piece of shit," Paul hissed. "I feed and exercise you. I even bring you_ toys _, for God's sake!"_

_Jack heard the slap before he felt it. His father hit him even harder than he'd just hit Diana. Jack's head rolled around and the side of his face smacked into the wall. Tears sprang into his eyes and he collapsed to the floor, crying loudly. Diana tried to reach for him, but Paul kicked her away._

" _And as for you, little bitch…I fucking told you to use the condoms! You never fucking listen to me, and now look where it's gotten you! I'm not letting you keep this one. Fucking whore." He spat on the ground next to Diana's feet. She cowered as Paul advanced on her, becoming more and more animated. It seemed as if his rage was building up as he talked instead of the other way around. Jack could barely see, he was crying so hard. "Mommy!" he called brokenly, but she didn't answer him._

" _No, Paul. This is_ your _fault," Diana croaked. She lay in a crumpled ball in front of her husband, blood seeping out from beneath her shirt. "You raped me and kept me in this shithole for six years. You ruined my life. It's all because of you…all you…"_

_For the rest of his childhood, Jack would be haunted by the image of what happened next. His father let out an inhuman cry of rage—it was almost demonic—and grabbed Diana by the arm, spitting and punching her. He dragged her to the balcony and threw open the door with his fist. Jack watched in horror as Paul smashed her body against the railing, once, twice, three times. As Diana's screams tore up the air, his father shoved her over the edge._

_The last image Jack had of his mother's face was pure, unadulterated terror. Diana Grant fell thirty stories below to the hard concrete, landing with a splatter of blood and gore. Paul watched her with a detached, emotionless expression on his face. When he saw the impact below, he threw his head back and laughed._

_He just laughed._

" _NO!" Jack screamed so loud he felt as if his throat would burst open._

" _SHUT UP!" Paul roared. He stalked over to his son and wrapped his hands around Jack's throat, squeezing until he started to turn blue. "Shut the_ fuck _up. If I ever fucking see you cry again, you will be so fucking sorry you were ever born. Mark my words."_

_When he released Jack, the boy's neck and face was covered with blood—both his and Diana's—and his brown eyes were wide and terrified. Paul could never stand that he looked exactly like his mother. With his curly blond hair and brown eyes, he was the spitting image of Diana. That was not helping Jack's case any at the moment._

" _Now get out of here before I lose my temper again," he spat. Jack scurried out of the room, still sobbing quietly. He locked himself in the bathroom and caught sight of a knife sitting on the counter. Paul must have brought it with him and forgot it was there._

 _Looking at the knife, Jack suddenly had an idea. His father had said if he saw him crying again, he would hurt him. But if Jack was always smiling…he'd seen the same thing on some of his father's friends, and wondered if_ he'd _made them always smile too when he got angry._

_His hand shaking madly, Jack slowly picked up the knife. He could hear his father slamming doors and shouting outside. Ever so deliberately, he pressed the cold metal to the side of his cheek. He would be like the clowns he had seen from a distance once, with their frozen smiles. Maybe then his father would leave him alone and bring his mother to a hospital. Maybe she was still alive—_

_Jack screamed as the knife dug into his flesh. A fountain of blood began to pour out of his cheek, but he continued carving the scar into his face. He had to make his father happy—he had to listen to him—_

_The entire right side of his face was covered in blood when he was finished and he quickly turned on the sink, watching the crimson liquid swirl down the drain. Jack raised the knife to the other side of his face and made an indentation there, simultaneously sobbing, hiccupping and bleeding. Paul banged on the door, but he didn't answer. His father might even be proud of him when he was done._

_By the time Paul managed to wrench open the door, Jack was curled up into a ball, covered with blood. "Stupid kid," the elder Napier muttered. He pried his son's hands away from his face and let out a bark of surprise when he saw the glistening, jagged scars that sliced through Jack's cheeks._

_The boy tried to say something but could only up screaming through the pain. He thrashed against Paul, trying to escape his grip, but the other man was bound to win. "Freak," Paul spat at him. "Why would you do that, retard? Now you're gonna look like that for the rest of your life. God, I have a whore for a wife and a freak for a son." He pulled Jack out of the bloodstained bathroom, grumbling about the police and how he would be stuck with his son, because the mob wouldn't want a "screwed-up freak" as an apprentice._

_Paul didn't mention another word about Diana for the rest of the night. Perhaps the copious amounts of alcohol he had drunk hindered his memories._

_Or perhaps he just didn't care._

* * *

On her way out of the school, Jeannie spotted a teenage boy standing under one of the enormous oak trees that flanked the building. He wore dark sunglasses and held a smoking cigarette between his fingers. Even though she wasn't able to see his eyes, there was a strangely familiar air about him, as if Jeannie had known him a long time ago.

The mysterious boy lifted up a hand to smooth back his greasy dark hair, and all of a sudden it hit her. _Anthony Reynolds_. He hadn't been seen for years, not since Jack had put him in the hospital. Nobody was entirely sure what happened to him, but rumor had it he was blind. Jeannie had all but forgotten him, and felt almost ill as she stared at his glasses.

As she watched, an older man climbed out of the nearest car and gently took hold of Anthony's arm, guiding him into the vehicle. Why was he only coming back to the school now? Had he wanted to come back on graduation day to experience everything one last time? Jeannie had hated him, and told herself she didn't care what happened after he'd given her a concussion…but he didn't deserve to be blind for the rest of her life.

She felt sorry for him.

"Jeannie? Wanna come back to the hotel with us?" Miranda asked, skipping up behind her and forcing her to refocus. "I need to take a shower and get dressed for dinner."

"Uh, sure," Jeannie said, trying to drive all thoughts of Anthony out of her mind. That was in the past and she would probably never see him again. At least he hadn't known Jack was here.

Speaking of Jack, he'd quietly slipped out of sight as soon as her family had reached them, with a promise to arrive at her house in time for dinner. Jeannie still hadn't told her parents he was coming over—she was waiting to ask them while they were in a good mood. The GCPD was still waiting for the results of the autopsies on Marissa and Paul, so for now Jack was safe. If his fingerprints were found on the bodies, he would be liable to appear in court. Jeannie didn't even dare to contemplate what would happen if Jack was sent to jail.

Harriet drove them to the hotel and dropped them off, saying that she would go shopping in the mall across the street and for Jeannie to call her when they were ready.

As was expected, Oliver and Miranda were staying in a seedy motel not too far from the Narrows. Jeannie didn't expect them to be at a five-star hotel, but couldn't help feeling gratified when she thought about the fact that they were foregoing comfort and luxury to fly halfway across the country and see her.

One thing she _was_ surprised about were the sleeping arrangements. She expected them to have neighboring rooms, or even a single room with two beds, but not an enormous king-size bed with clothes spread all over it. When Jeannie flicked the dusty lightbulb on and saw a package of condoms shoved hastily under the dresser, she visibly cringed. Her earlier suspicions had been correct…but she didn't know her two old friends were _this_ close.

So her previous assumption had been wrong: Miranda and Oliver hadn't traveled to Gotham just to see _her_. They'd come for privacy and intimacy as well. Jeannie suddenly felt uncomfortable and slightly nauseous, not unlike the time her mother had first given her "the talk." Imagining her friends having sex was _not_ a pleasant mental picture.

With a wave and a wink towards Oliver, Miranda disappeared into the bathroom for her shower. Jeannie was left shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at him. He seemed unsure as well and cleared his throat uneasily. The awkward silence hung in the air between them, until Oliver mumbled, "So it's true, then. You and Jack Napier."

"Don't sound so surprised," Jeannie replied indignantly. "We've been friends for a long time. _I_ should be asking _you_ about Miranda. I thought you hated her."

"Everything changed, I guessed," Oliver said. "When I came back from Washington, things just…"

"Happened?"

"Yeah."

Another long pause. Jeannie kept her eyes fixed on a suspicious red spot on the wall as she said, "What happened to the promise we'd marry each other someday?"

Now Oliver's voice held a tone of condescension. "We're not eight years old anymore, Jeannie. You wouldn't marry me even if I asked. We're both seeing other people now."

"I kissed you," Jeannie murmured, her voice hardly audible over the rush of the shower. "I thought I was in love with you."

"We're not thirteen anymore either," her former best friend said. She looked up, and something broke between them. A tiny piece of her heart broke with it as well. For fifteen years, Oliver Hammet had known her better than her own parents. Time and distance had slowly chipped away at the strings of their friendship until there was hardly anything left. They were both different people now.

Somewhere deep inside her, Jeannie knew she would probably never see Oliver again once they parted, and if she did, it would be under entirely different circumstances.

"I know," she replied, and blinked away tears.

* * *

Miranda came out of the shower three minutes later, completely oblivious as to what had just happened. She wore a tiny sundress that barely covered her chest and high heels that looked like something out of a James Bond movie. "Are you guys ready?" she chirped.

Oliver, now grinning stupidly, took her arm and whispered into her ear, now leaving no doubts about the nature of their relationship. Jeannie pulled out her new cell phone and called Harriet, hoping the note of desperation in her voice would serve as a warning to hurry up.

Luckily, her sister picked them up as soon as they left the motel. She ordered Jeannie to hold all of her shopping bags while Oliver and Miranda cuddled in the backseat, making loud slurping noises and hardly coming up for air. Eventually Harriet, who appeared to be getting as disgusted as Jeannie was, made a pathetic attempt at conversation by asking, "Are you planning on going to college, Miranda?"

"Naw," she said, giggling as Oliver kissed her bare shoulder. "I wanna travel the world first and then work as a bartender."

Harriet gave Jeannie a look that plainly said, _Now_ _do you see why I've always hated her?_ To be fair, Harriet was a bit of a rebel herself, but at least she'd gone to college. Honestly, Jeannie was beginning to wonder why she was even friends with someone as ditzy as Miranda Parker. The surprise of seeing her and Oliver had definitely worn off.

"Anyway, what about you, Harriet?" Miranda continued. "Weren't you pregnant a while ago?"

Jeannie groaned and pretended to be fascinated on something out the window. Harriet's accidental pregnancy was something of a taboo topic in the Kerr house.

"Yes, I was," her older sister said through gritted teeth.

"Are you still seeing who knock—your boyfriend at the time?" God, Miranda just wouldn't shut up. "I think his name was Zach."

"I haven't seen him in years." Uh-oh. Now Harriet was definitely angry. The contact between the Kerr and the Collingwood families had been completely severed since the birth. Jeannie had seen Zach a few times from a distance, but he was always with another girl.

"Oh, sorry," Miranda giggled, finally sensing she had crossed the line. Unfortunately, this only gave way to another bout of kisses between her and Oliver.

Jeannie's day had abruptly turned sour. She got out of the car the second they reached the house and raced for the refuge of her bedroom, pretending she was tired and going to sleep. It sounded childish, but she would rather be called immature than sit through one more second of that makeout session.

Her cell phone beeped as she went up the stairs, but she didn't pay attention to it until she was safely in her room. She frowned when she saw the text was from an unknown number.

_Unknown 4:08 pm: Found you, tiger._

She mouthed _tiger_ to herself before hesitantly typing out a reply. How could he have known her number?

_Jeannie 4:10 pm: Jack?_

A loud thump sounded from outside her room and Rebecca suddenly poked her head in. "Your friends are looking for you," she said, grinning when she saw Jeannie's face. "Want me to distract them?"

"Yes, please!" Jeannie begged. "Just for half an hour or so. I can only take so much of them at once."

"That's not very nice," teased Rebecca. "They flew down here on their own dime just for you."

Jeannie snorted. "I'll be down in a little bit, Becky."

"Thirty minutes, tops, or…" Rebecca made a slicing motion across her throat. Jeannie grabbed her teddy bear and was prepared to throw it at her when she quickly retreated.

Smiling in victory, she turned back to her phone and was pleasantly surprised to see an answer.

_Unknown 4:12 pm: Who else would it be?_

It was definitely Jack. No one else could turn a simple question into a thinly veiled insult.

_Jeannie 4:15 pm: How did you get my number?_

_Jack 4:16 pm: I asked your not-so-intelligent-after-all friend before she left. Valedictorian, huh?_

_Jeannie 4:17 pm: Don't insult Emily._

_Jack 4:19 pm: I was just expressing my disbelief._

_Jeannie 4:21 pm: She's going through a hard time right now…_

_Jack 4:22 pm: We all are._

She wasn't sure if he meant the last message to be sarcastic or not. Finally deciding on a simple, _Ha ha-see you at dinner,_ Jeannie tossed her phone to the side and stood up. It was time to go downstairs and try to entertain Miranda and Oliver, who, she was sure, were more entertained with themselves than anything else.

Mr. Kerr was fixing a loose nail in one of the floorboards when Jeannie found him. "Dad," she began, twisting her fingers together, "About dinner tonight…"

"Yes?" he asked, not looking up from his work. "You said you wanted spaghetti."

"It's not that…Jack's coming over tonight."

The words came out in a jumble, but her father apparently understood because he accidentally hammered his thumb instead of the nail. " _Damn_ —why didn't you tell us this earlier, Jeannie?"

"Everything was just sort of finalized now," she said lamely. "I can't say no to him now. Please?"

Mr. Kerr sighed. "Fine. Just—make sure he keeps his temper under control."

Her face broke out into a smile and she leaned over to hug him. "Thanks, Dad!"

"I should get a medal for all I do," he muttered, but smiled back at her.

Just like she'd expected, Miranda and Oliver were curled up on the loveseat watching TV. "I see what you meant—there's never anything good on television," said Miranda, grimacing as she flipped past the news. "Why does Gotham need _Law & Order _when the entire city's a living example of it?"

"Irony, I guess," said Jeannie, dropping into the armchair next to them. She exchanged a look with Rebecca, who was sitting on the couch reading a book. Looking relieved, her sister got up and left the room. Everything was reminiscent of the way it had been when Harriet and Zach first started dating—they weren't allowed to be alone for even a second. But evidently, they'd been alone for _more_ than a second and look where it had gotten them.

Miranda finally settled on a cheesy teen comedy where the shy and bookish protagonist tried to win the attention of the popular and handsome love interest. Jeannie felt as if her IQ was slowly dropping as she listened to the ridiculous, unrealistic lines that no teenager would ever say in a thousand years.

The worst part was, Oliver seemed as if he was actually _enjoying_ it. He would never have sat through a movie like that when he was younger. Annoyed, Jeannie tried to catch his eye so she could give him a truly evil glare, but he never looked over at her.

Just as the rich, creamy smell of spaghetti sauce was beginning to waft over them, the doorbell rang. "Thank God," Jeannie exclaimed, not caring what her friends made of that, and immediately opened the door. "You have to save me," she told a smirking Jack. "I've been stuck here forever."

"Lucky you," he said. "I had to listen to the man next door entertain prostitutes in his bedroom."

Jeannie raised her eyebrow. "Did you join in?"

He laughed. "Of course I did, _Jean_ -nie."

They emerged back into the living room, where Oliver and Miranda were currently engaged in a horizontal wrestling match. It was as if a dam had burst—they'd had to sit all morning doing nothing but holding hands. Now all of their pent-up energy was being released.

"I should have left them back at the hotel, really," Jeannie said loudly, feeling Jack shaking with laughter beside her.

Neither Miranda nor Oliver made any indication they'd heard her, so she turned back to him with a shrug. "Guess so," he answered, a newfound spark in his eye. "Shall we try and outdo them?"

"Here?" Jeannie asked, but it was too late—Jack had already grabbed her and pulled her down onto the chair so she was sitting in his lap.

"You are not using them as an excuse to make out with me!" she tried to say, but Jack effectively shushed her by covering her lips with his.

Kissing him was still relatively new to Jeannie, and she found the coarse feeling of his scars an annoyance at first. But as the embrace grew more and more passionate, she realized she didn't really mind them so much. They were a part of Jack, after all.

And _God,_ he was so different from Richard, more fervent and rough. Her heart was pounding a million miles an hour and she forgot all about Oliver and Miranda. It was just her and Jack—how far would they go? Jeannie would have willingly done everything with him right then because the warmth of his touch and the sound of his husky voice murmuring into her ear was too much to resist—

Until the loud cough of her father jerked her out of paradise. Jeannie reluctantly pulled away from Jack and saw Mr. Kerr's livid face staring down at them. "What in the name of all that is _holy_ are the four of you doing?" he demanded.

Jeannie looked over at Oliver and Miranda's equally startled faces. Oliver's shirt was unbuttoned and one of the straps on Miranda's dress was hanging off. "We were, um, just getting to know each other, Dad," she said weakly.

"Getting to know—you're _dating_ him?" Mr. Kerr said accusingly, pointing a finger at Jack.

"I wouldn't exactly call it that," he said elusively. "One thing led to another and, uh, here we are."

Mr. Kerr took several deep breaths and closed his eyes while Jeannie frantically prayed Jack would wipe the smirk off his face. "We'll talk about this after the meal," he said, forcibly trying to remain calm. "Now get into the kitchen, the four of you—and I don't want you sitting next to each other!"

The second his back was turned, Miranda and Jack started laughing. "I forgot how overprotective your dad was," Miranda said. "It's hilarious."

But Jeannie and Oliver weren't so amused. She'd known that dinner would be uncomfortable…but there was already enough tension in the room to cut with a knife, and they hadn't even eaten yet. The only thing she could take solace in was the flushed look on Jack's face and the odd look in his eyes every time he glanced at her. Something about it made her heart rate quicken and her knees weak. She'd seen that look a hundred times in her life, but it had never been directed at _her_ until now.


	20. June 1998: Anger

_When Diana's body was discovered hours after the incident, Paul and Jack were long gone. The police ordered an immediate autopsy and determined that the cause of death was either suicide or manslaughter. During a later investigation, they found her marriage certificate and began a search for Paul._

_Knowing that he was likely to be tracked by the police, Paul hid in a friend's house with Jack. His friend was an extremely successful defense lawyer who had won many criminal cases that in a regular court would have been lost causes. He told Paul it might be a good idea if he gave himself up and then was proved innocent in court, rather than hiding for the rest of his life. Paul agreed and although he was kept in a holding cell for a month, the court case eventually came to fruition and he was declared free of all charges._

_Diana's family, who were convinced that Paul had kidnapped and killed her, protested. They tried to gain custody of Jack but the young boy refused to speak to anyone, even his own grandparents. Paul had warned him that if he told the truth, he would be tortured even more than his mother._

_After nearly a year of surveillance Paul gained full custody of Jack and his grandparents had nothing more to do except go back to New York. Paul moved into a small townhouse in Gotham Acres and started up his drug dealing again, sometimes leaving the city to deal with important clients._

_With his father often away, Jack was left entirely alone. At first, he made his meals with scraps of food he found in the cupboards and occasionally went through the neighbors' trash, but as he grew older he learned how to go to the store and cook for himself. He learned how to scare "monsters" away and read books, because as cliché as it sounded they were the only way he could escape his own life._

_And in one way, it was a good thing that Paul was almost never home. Harassing Jack was his favorite pastime, and if he had continued to beat him into oblivion Jack would have barely been able to function. As it was, however, he was able to stand the sporadic punch or slap because he knew his father would leave the next day. Instead of being bullied into submission he developed a tough, sarcastic personality that made him feel stronger and more prepared to deal with danger. His clever mind and sharp tongue drew respect from the people around him—except for one._

* * *

As Jeannie expected, dinner was an exceptionally uncomfortable affair. Liam, Rebecca and Mrs. Kerr made awkward conversation while the teenagers sat silently. Jeannie kept catching Jack's eye across the table and had to resist the temptation to burst into laughter. He looked so exasperatingly proud of himself that it crossed the boundary of 'annoying' and instead turned into 'amusing'.

Similarly, Miranda and Oliver were not-so-discreetly texting under the table. A wave of resentment peppered with regret swept over Jeannie every time she caught them. Here was a living example of how people changed over time. Their once tight-knit friendship had slowly but surely turned sour, just like the spaghetti was losing its flavor after sitting untouched on Jeannie's plate for so long.

After a light-hearted chat during which Rebecca and Mrs. Kerr discussed the heat wave Los Angeles was currently experiencing, Liam leaned forward and cautiously cleared his throat. He exchanged a nervous glance with Susan, who smiled encouragingly at him.

"This might be the wrong time to announce this, but I feel like it's now or never. I wanted to let everyone know before I go back to Chicago. Susan and I…we're engaged."

There was a full five seconds of stunned silence before Jack replied, "Congratulations. Did you know over half of all marriages end in divorce?"

Jeannie closed her eyes as if to escape the situation. Harriet snorted into her milk glass, but ended up inhaling the liquid and dissolving into a coughing fit. Rebecca looked like she didn't know what expression she should wear. Oliver and Miranda were half-smiling, but everyone else looked horrified.

When Jeannie dared to reopen her eyes, Mr. Kerr took a deep breath to calm himself and asked, "Are you sure about this, Liam? I don't doubt you made this decision rationally…but you still are only twenty-three."

"I'm sure, Dad," the eldest Kerr sibling replied firmly. "We talked to Susan's parents before we left Chicago and they're fine with it."

"Have you set a date yet?" Mrs. Kerr asked. She looked flustered, as if she didn't know what to do with her hands. Her gaze kept moving between her husband and Jack like she was ready to jump between them should a fight break out.

"We know we want a winter wedding," Susan spoke up. She squeezed Liam's hand and he gently stroked her fingers. Jeannie wished she could look away.

"Looks like we'll be coming back to Gotham, then!" Miranda chirped. "Right, Oliver?"

He gave a tiny shrug. "Sure."

Now Jack wasn't even bothering to hide his amusement. "We'll all be looking forward to that."

"Great!" Miranda sang, somehow not picking up on the sarcasm.

Mr. Kerr opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out Rebecca quickly stood up and began collecting plates. "It's time for dessert!" she said in a falsely cheerful voice.

Frustration boiled up inside Jeannie and she clenched her fists to prevent it bubbling over. What was supposed to be one of the best days of her life had collapsed around her. She couldn't take it anymore—the tension at the table, the way everyone was glaring at her as if everything was _her_ fault. "Dad, can I talk to you for a moment?"

Judging by the stern look on his face, this was not the first thing Mr. Kerr wanted to do, but he dutifully stood up and followed Jeannie into the living room.

"All right," she began, trying to arrange her thoughts. "I want you to listen to me and not interrupt until I'm finished." She waited for a begrudging look before continuing. "It wasn't my idea to invite Oliver and Miranda. I didn't know they were dating, and I didn't know they were this involved. Secondly, I want everyone to stop acting as if Jack is something that escaped from the zoo. You told me yourself how difficult his childhood was. Now, I don't know exactly what happened while he was in Toronto, but I have a feeling it screwed him up even more. He's helped me out in ways you could never understand, Dad. I'm his only friend, and he was my first friend in Gotham. Besides, I seem to recall _you_ initiating our interactions. _You_ told me to keep an eye on him four years ago. And I did. He told me you saved his life."

Mr. Kerr blinked slowly, like he couldn't process what Jeannie was saying. "Yes, I suppose you could call it that, dear. But I'm a policeman—it's my job. I have no problem with you inviting him over for dinner, but walking in on my youngest daughter _necking_ a boy who may very well be charged for murder is _not_ the way I want to find out about a relationship!"

Explaining to him that they were just trying to make fun of Oliver and Miranda didn't seem like a very good idea with his current mood, so Jeannie tried a different tack. She mumbled, "He's not going to be charged for murder. Anyway, what does it matter to you who I date? You let Harriet date Zach and she got pregnant! I'm not planning on going that far with Jack anytime soon. We started this…whatever it is two weeks ago."

Her father was shaking his head even before she finished speaking. "You and Harriet are not the same person. Listen, Jeannie, Zach was a normal boy in a stable family. He was brought up with an understanding of how to treat women—"

All of a sudden, Jeannie understood what her father was getting at. He didn't dislike Jack as a person—he disliked him because he was involved with _her._ "So you're saying because of Jack's childhood, he's not fit to date someone like me? You're scared he'll beat me up if he gets angry or, even worse, drag me down with him?"

"No, of course not," Mr. Kerr tried to protest, but the damage was done. Jeannie couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"I get it. You think he's not good enough for me." She gave her father the most withering look she could muster. "I mean, you thought Zach was good enough for Harriet, and look what happened to _them_. It must suck to know you have two grandchildren who you'll probably never meet."

Even in her anger, it was impossible to miss the look of agony that now manifested itself on Mr. Kerr's face. The tiniest part of Jeannie wanted to apologize, to try to take back her words, but her blood was pumping too fast to calm down. She turned around and simply walked out of the house, barely noticing the humidity that hit her like a brick as soon as she stepped outside.

It had been years since Jeannie had childishly stomped away from an argument. She probably wasn't acting like the mature eighteen-year-old she tried to be, but there was always a certain selfish pleasure in slamming doors. She supposed she could take her car and drive to Emily's, but the Nashtons already had enough on their plate as it was and besides, it wouldn't reflect well on her if she were to just leave her friends alone in the house.

So she curled up on the porch swing and stared blankly across the street, fighting the angry tears. She had graduated from high school, so why was it that she still felt like an eighth-grader being punished for sneaking into the police station? Why had her older siblings never gotten into arguments of this kind with their parents? Aside from Harriet's pregnancy, they'd lived a relatively stress-free life. Liam and Rebecca had both picked "acceptable" partners; that is, people from a middle-class background who would be able to support themselves. Why couldn't her parents accept something outside of their comfort zone?

To them, Jeannie supposed, Jack would look like the classic teenage rebel from a dysfunctional, broken home. For God's sake, Mrs. Kerr was a psychiatrist! She should know that Jeannie was actually _good_ for Jack, to let him know that it was possible for him to live a stable life. If not for her, he would probably be in a gang or in jail. After all the effort her father had put into researching the Napiers, shouldn't he _want_ Jack to be rehabilitated?

Behind her, the front door creaked open and as if on cue, Jack leapt onto the swing beside her. Jeannie waited for him to crack a joke, but his face was uncharacteristically solemn. As always, her eyes were drawn to his scars. She wanted to brush her fingers across them but knew that he wouldn't take too kindly to such invasiveness.

"What happened?" Jack finally asked. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and twirled a lock of Jeannie's hair around in his fingers.

Not wanting to look him in the eye, she shrugged noncommittally. "Dad and I don't see eye to eye, I guess."

He chuckled softly. "I'm not surprised. You're way too stubborn, _Jean_ -nie."

A gentle breeze blew past them and Jeannie turned her face into it, welcoming the cool relief. When she couldn't stand the silence anymore, she mumbled, "My parents don't like you."

Jack began shaking uncontrollably, and for a split second she thought he was crying. But a quick glance in his direction showed he was doing the exact opposite. In fact, he sounded like he was gasping for air after laughing so hard. Jeannie waited until his convulsions had slowed to wheezes before she said, "What's so funny?"

"Do you think I haven't _noticed_ that?" he giggled, looking at her incredulously. "Your daddy could never stand the sight of me! It breaks his poor little heart that I'm, uh, _involved_ with you."

Jeannie felt both chagrined and relieved by his statement. One on hand, it saved the awkward conversation of her having to tell him. On the other, it meant that Mr. Kerr's dislike was obvious. Who else had known about the animosity and hadn't told her?

"I don't care what he thinks," she said defiantly. "He was all ready to 'support Harriet's decisions' three years ago. Last week she even _admitted_ to him she goes to parties all the time and has sex with men she doesn't even know. It's a screwed-up double standard."

"It's because you're the youngest," Jack teased. "Anyway, I don't see why you're so upset about it. Things are even _more_ fun when people don't like you—believe me." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim black cellphone.

"How did you afford that?" Jeannie couldn't help but ask. She thought of his rundown apartment that seemed as if it was in danger of collapsing into itself.

Jack grinned slyly, a sure sign she wouldn't like the answer. "I _can't_ afford it. Let's just say the man I stole it from won't be needing it anymore."

"You stole it? Jack, why—"

"Shush, _Jean_ -nie. He'd stolen it from someone else, so technically I didn't do anything wrong." His smile turned from sly to impish in a second. "Let me guess—Ollie boy would be so _disappointed_ in me. I must say, I was expecting someone a little bit more…interesting. You acted as if he was a god."

"I did not!" Jeannie cried indignantly. "He and Miranda have both changed. They never used to be…"

"Useless wastes of space?" asked Jack. "Admit it, love. You'll be glad to see them go."

"I think everyone will be," she sighed and looked back at the door. She could hear the distant clatter of cutlery and the low hum of voices. It sounded like they'd finished the meal without her.

Jack's phone beeped and he scanned the message before abruptly standing up and running a hand through his messy curls. "I have to go, _Jean_ -nie. Apparently I'm working the night shift."

"Huh?" she asked. "Night shift? You mean you have a job? Where?"

He gave her a withering look. "No, I work for free. It's a bar downtown, but they often get a lot of 'unwanted visitors', so they employed me to, ah, keep the riffraff out. They think the scars will scare 'em away." Jack shook his head, clearly amused. "By the way, is there a Joseph in your family?"

"No, why?"

"Good." Jack looked pleased. "I didn't want to give my real name since my father used to hang around that part of the Narrows, so everyone knows me as Joseph Kerr."

" _Jos_ —Jack, you're _insane_." Jeannie tried to hide the fact she was secretly pleased by his choice of surname.

"Not insane, just incredibly smart." He winked. "I'll come over again tomorrow, tiger. Tell your mother the food was delicious."

Jeannie watched him amble off down the street, wondering how he was going to get all the way to the Narrows. Maybe he knew someone in Gotham Acres who would give him a drive.

As if they had been waiting for Jack to leave, the front door was thrown open and Miranda stepped out, closely followed by Oliver. Neither of them asked her why she hadn't come back to the table. Instead Miranda blew her a kiss and said, "We've got to get back to the hotel, Jeannie. Our flight leaves early tomorrow morning and we want to be rested for it. Right, baby?"

"Sure thing," Oliver said. He gave Jeannie a small wave. "Today was fun. Mir and I will probably come back for Liam's wedding."

"Great," Jeannie said weakly. She watched her ex-best friends clamber in to Mrs. Kerr's van and wrap their arms around each other. Was this what it felt like to everyone else when they saw _her_ and Jack?

Several minutes later, Mrs. Kerr left the house with car keys in hand. "Your father wants to speak with you," she said as she passed Jeannie.

But Jeannie waited until the van had disappeared before reluctantly getting out of the swing and going back inside. She felt goosebumps rise along her arms, suddenly wary.

Mr. Kerr was sitting on the couch, staring down at the telephone. When he noticed his youngest daughter standing in the doorway he immediately snapped to attention. "Sergeant Gordon called me," he said in a restrained tone. "The results from the Napiers' autopsies have been released."

"What did they show?" Jeannie asked, temporarily forgetting her anger.

"Jack's story appears to be true," her father said flatly. "Paul killed Marissa and then committed suicide."

Jeannie could hardly believe her ears. How on earth had Jack managed to erase his fingerprints from Paul's body? "So there won't be a trial?"

Mr. Kerr shook his head. "Jack doesn't need to do anything. Since he's eighteen he's perfectly entitled to live on his own."

Well, this certainly took away one worry. Jeannie was so relieved, she even smiled at her father and headed into the kitchen to apologize to her siblings and Susan.

With Jack out of the spotlight, Mr. Kerr couldn't blame him for a single thing. No wonder he'd sounded so unhappy—he had run out of excuses to prevent their relationship. As long as Jack wasn't caught doing anything illegal, Jeannie's father could only give them his blessing.

The only problem that remained now was _keeping_ Jack out of trouble. He evidently liked to push the envelope and that wasn't something to be rewarded, since the letter inside was the law. Jeannie would have to train him to follow the rules, or things could turn very sour for both of them.


	21. September 1998: University

_It was already being regarded as the saddest day in Gotham's history. For the past week, civilians had been downtrodden and glum as they tried to go about their daily lives. Some would even say that there was a tangible atmospheric change hovering over the city._

_Now, a week after the tragedy, mourners were taking to the streets in droves. People from as far as Metropolis and Bl_ _ü_ _dhaven were filling up the sidewalks and nearby buildings, holding their breath and craning their necks to see if they could catch a glimpse of the funeral procession._

_It had been exactly seven days since Thomas and Martha Wayne had been killed, a week since Gotham's prized prince became an orphan. A steady stream of presents and gifts were being stacked a mile high outside of Wayne Manor every day. In fact, there were so many of them that the Waynes' butler had had to hire a team of workers to bring them all inside._

_It was a cloudy, gloomy day, and the absence of sun in addition to the already melancholy atmosphere made everything worse. Even though there had to be at least a million people crowding Main Street, everyone was hushed and silent._

_In a small grocery store two blocks away, eight-year-old Jack Napier stepped outside into the gathered crowd, struggling to balance the food that was tucked under his arm. The few coins he had scraped from under his bed barely amounted to a fruit and a piece of bread. He would have to be very careful how much he ate for the next couple of days._

_Jack kept his head down as he wove through the crowd, letting his long unkempt curls hide his face. He didn't like talking to strangers—they would always stare at his scars instead of listening to what he was saying. Some would give him looks of pity, but most would snicker behind his back and make fun of him. He already knew the other students would gossip about him behind his back at school, and he never had a partner for anything. At recess he would sit under a tree and read one of the books the teacher had lent him._

_Jack kept his eyes on the ground as he moved down the sidewalk. To his right, a thick yellow rope blocked the crowd from trickling out onto the road. Without even thinking about it, he hopped over the barrier and continued on down the street, relieved he was free from the suffocating expanse of bodies. He didn't like being close to people. It wasn't just because they stared at his scars; something inside of him always recoiled whenever he was within two feet of another person. In his mind, strangers were out to get him and he was suspicious of the friendly ones. They were probably trying to get on his good side before they beat him up._

" _Hey! What are you doing?" a shrill voice called from behind him. In spite of himself, Jack looked up to see a girl running towards him. She looked around his age, maybe eight or nine, and her brown hair was tied up into two neat pigtails._

_Jack shrugged, but didn't say a word. He wouldn't talk to anyone unless he had to._

_The girl stopped in front of him and narrowed her eyes. Her nametag read "Rachel Dawes". She looked angry, but Jack wasn't scared of her. His father said that if a girl ever talked back to him, he was supposed to hit them until they started to cry. Jack had never done that before, but he supposed if things came down to it he would have to hurt her. Maybe not hard enough to send her to the hospital, but a light kick or punch. Girls were weak anyway. They cried at the smallest things. Jack hadn't cried since he was five years old._

" _You're not supposed to be on the road!" she said angrily. "There was a rope for a reason!"_

_Jack continued staring at her. Although his expression didn't betray it, he thought it was funny that she was so angry. Who cared whether he was on the road or not?_

" _Do you understand me?" the girl complained when he didn't reply. "The funeral procession is going to come this way soon!"_

_He didn't respond, but continued studying her. Whenever his father saw a woman, he always said he wanted to fuck her. Jack wasn't entirely clear on what "fucking" someone meant, but it seemed to involve a lot of moaning and taking clothes off. Was he supposed to want to fuck this girl? He didn't want to take his clothes off in front of her, that was for sure._

_Meanwhile, she was still glaring at him. "Go away," she said more forcefully. "Can you even talk?"_

_He nodded and grinned at her. This only seemed to make her angrier. She stuck her lower lip out and looked as if she was about to stomp her foot. "They'll be coming around the corner any minute. You'd better hurry."_

_In the distance, Jack heard the clip-clopping of horses' hooves and knew that she was right. He wondered if she was a friend of that rich boy, Bruce Wayne. He didn't know why the orphan was being given so much attention. He didn't seem very special in Jack's eyes. Lots of children became orphans every day and there was never a funeral procession for their parents._

_Reluctantly, he crossed the road and as he got to the curb, the apple dropped from his grasp and rolled back to the girl. Still scowling, she scooped it up and lobbed it as hard as she could at his head. It hit the back of his skull with a loud crack, but he didn't make a noise. He was used to pain._

_Jack felt a surge of anger shoot through him and he whirled around to actually hit her this time, but she was running off down the street, probably to tattle on him. Oh well. They would never find him._

_Rachel Dawes. He made careful note of her name, storing it in the back of his memory._

_He would get her back someday. He was sure of it._

_Jack Napier never broke his promises._

* * *

**Two Months Later**

**September 1998**

The early-autumn leaves crunched loudly under Jeannie's feet as she made her way up to the Nashtons' house. Today was the first day of university and she was now the designated chauffeur for Emily, who had made a last-minute decision to stay in Gotham and take care of her brother rather than move to Washington.

Jeannie was secretly glad she changed her mind, even if it was a selfish pleasure: Emily would be the only other person she knew at the university. Most of her friends had left the city for "bigger and better things", though in many people's minds _anywhere_ was better than Gotham. Even though she liked the place very much, Jeannie could see their point.

Apollo leapt at her the second the front door opened, but unlike the first time Jeannie visited she was ready for it and had just enough time to brace herself against the doorframe. A frazzled Emily shooed the dog back inside and shut the door behind her. "Let's go," she said, trying to smile confidently.

"How are you doing?" Jeannie asked quietly. It had been a long, difficult summer for the Nashtons. Edward was still in Arkham and he didn't seem to be doing any better. In fact, he'd tried to attack Mr. Nashton during the last visit and apparently did nothing more than sit in the corner of his cell muttering to himself. Even the staff were at a loss as to what do with him. Emily tried to pretend it wasn't a big deal, but her actions told Jeannie otherwise. The entire family was at their breaking point.

"I'm fine," Emily said automatically as they got into Jeannie's car. "Honestly. Listen," she began when she saw her friend's doubtful look, "I'm more nervous about university than anything else. I'm gonna be screwed."

"No, you won't," Jeannie said as they pulled out into the flow of traffic. "Everyone says it's not as hard as it sounds."

"That's easy for you to say, because you're taking _History,_ " Emily half-teased. "I'm taking Biology. The other students say it's a killer."

"Then why'd you take it?" retorted Jeannie. She intended it as a light-hearted question, but Emily's face fell.

"I guess—Mom and Dad wanted Edward to be a biologist but that's obviously not going to happen, so I figured…I should…" she trailed off, looking anywhere but at Jeannie.

Someone else might have happily crowed, "I _knew_ it! You're not fine!" but Jeannie couldn't bring herself to be triumphant. She kept her eyes fixed on the car in front of them, knowing that Emily needed time to explain.

"I—I haven't seen him in a week and I'm really nervous," her best friend confessed, still not looking at her. "I promised I would visit him tonight, but I don't know what to expect."

"I'll go with you," Jeannie said without thinking. "I mean, if you want me to, that is."

There was a hint of hope in Emily's voice as she replied, "You would? Oh, Jeannie, that would be such a relief, but it's Arkham, you know…it's not the sort of place you want to spend your free time."

"I can do it," Jeannie replied firmly. "After all, if I'm going to become a teacher, I need to learn how to deal with the mentally ill, right?"

Her feeble joke didn't amuse Emily, who stayed stoic. "Maybe you could ask your mother if she has any suggestions on how to calm him down. Anything is worth a try at this point."

Jeannie shook her head slowly. "It would only be the standard stuff. Be gentle, speak softly, act like you understand him…Em, if the doctors knew how to cure him, they would have already."

"But what if he's in there for the rest of his _life_?" Emily whispered, her uneven voice shattering all illusions of composure.

Jeannie had no answer to that. She knew all she could offer her friend was comfort and a shoulder to lean on. Once someone was sent to Arkham, the rumors went, they never came out.

* * *

Gotham University was a large, sprawling campus conveniently located between Nothing and Nowhere In Particular—that was to say, it was many miles from the city itself. After a twenty-minute drive past the city limits, Jeannie was beginning to worry they'd end up in Canada. She'd been to the university before, of course, but she hadn't remembered the drive as being _this_ long.

Just as they rounded a corner and a tall stone building came into sight, her phone beeped. As soon as Jeannie saw the text _,_ she gasped. "Emily, I'm so sorry! I completely forgot I had a date tonight."

"That's fine," Emily assured her. "I'll go alone then. Don't worry about it—"

In another spur-of-the-moment decision, Jeannie blurted, "Can he come too?"

The youngest Nashton looked surprised. "If he wants…but wouldn't he rather be with you instead?"

"He'll be with me," argued Jeannie. "Who knows, maybe he'll be the one to talk some sense into Edward." She pulled up in front of a building marked _Science Department_ and waved to Emily. "Meet you here at the end of the day, then?"

Her friend nodded and gave her a quick hug before jumping out of the car. "Thanks, Jeannie!"

"No problem." Jeannie waited until she had disappeared inside before retrieving her map of the university so she could locate the Humanities department. Of course, it was on the other side of the campus. Jeannie pulled into the nearest parking spot and grabbed her phone.

_Jack 8:45 am: So where are we going tonight?_

_Jeannie 8:52 am: Arkham._

_Jack 8:53 am: What a wonderful idea. I can't believe I didn't think of that before._

_Jeannie 8:55 am: Ha ha. We're visiting Edward._

_Jack 8:57 am: A double date, then?_

_Jeannie 8:59 am: NO! God, you're so annoying sometimes. I'll meet you in front of your apartment at 5, all right?_

Without waiting for a response, she stuffed her phone back into her bag and climbed out of the car, pretending to be nervous about university but really worrying about how things would turn out that night.


	22. September 1998: Arkham

_They hated him._

_Nobody knew exactly why; in fact, even the boys themselves didn't know why they bullied him so much. Maybe it was the scars. Maybe it was the way he never talked. Maybe it was the way he smirked, ever so slightly, after they had thrown an insult at him. Maybe they just sensed he was not quite right._

_Whatever the reason, Bobby Sanders and Randy Donaldson were out to get Jack. Verbally bullying him wasn't enough; twelve-year-old boys were never satisfied with words. Fights should always be resolved with a good punch or two—at least in their opinion._

_After school one September day at the beginning of seventh grade, Randy, Bobby and two of the other "popular boys", Aaron and Max, decided to show Jack who wielded all of the power once and for all. They waited until they were safely off school property and his back was turned before raising their voices._

" _Scarface!" Bobby yelled at the back of Jack's head. "Where are you going, Scarface? Back to your shithole house?"_

_Meters ahead, Jack stopped and slowly turned around. His dark eyes were unreadable._

" _What's the matter?" Randy jeered. "Scared to take us on?"_

" _Nobody will ever like you!" Max added. "You're a freak, Napier!"_

" _You might as well kill yourself and do the world a favor," said Aaron, half-laughing._

_As the group of boys advanced, Jack stood completely still. His hands were clenched into fists, but none of them believed he could do any real damage._

" _Better run along before your mommy gets worried," said Randy. "I bet she doesn't want her precious baby to be late coming home."_

_Without knowing it, Randy had hit right on Jack's weak spot. The blond boy took a step forward, raising his fists, but Bobby got to him first. He leapt on Jack and tried to tackle him to the ground._

_Although Bobby was more muscular, Jack was taller and therefore had the advantage of longer arms and legs. He easily flipped the other boy onto his side and began to pummel him mercilessly, beating his fists wherever he could reach._

_Sensing danger, the other three tried halfheartedly to pry Jack away from Bobby, but with three well-placed kicks he winded all of them. They scrambled to their feet and sprinted as fast as they could away from the scene, further cementing their cowardly nature._

_By the time Jack was finished with Bobby, he was crumpled on the pavement with blood streaming out of his nose and mouth. Adrenaline coursed through Jack and he smiled triumphantly at the injured boy, wishing he could replay the satisfying moment where his nose had cracked. Jack hoped it was broken beyond repair._

" _Ironic, isn't it?" he whispered to Bobby—the first words he had spoken that afternoon._

 _Bobby stared up at him with wide eyes, but his mouth was pouring too much blood for him to answer. He could only watch in dread as Jack pulled a pocket knife out of his coat and flipped it open. "Unless you want to look like_ this _, you'll keep your mouth shut," he said, gesturing to his scars. "Do you understand?"_

_Bobby nodded so vigorously his cheek scratched painfully across the pavement and he closed his eyes in agony. When he finally managed to open them again, Jack was gone._

_That was the last day anyone bullied Jack Napier to his face. In the following years, some terrified students claimed that he always carried a knife around with him._

_They were right._

* * *

University, Jeannie decided, wasn't all it was cracked up to be. After sitting for eight hours in a crowded room full of other sullen teenagers frantically taking notes, she couldn't imagine how she would survive for another four _days,_ let alone four years. She would be twenty-two by the time she graduated, and after that she would have to study at a special teacher's college for another year, thus making her twenty-three before she would be completely free.

Being eighteen didn't seem like such a fun age anymore. Jeannie almost _envied_ Jack in a way; at least he was free from the confines of education. On the other hand, she supposed, it would be almost impossible for him to get a well-paying job. She wasn't sure how much his "bodyguard" position at the bar was earning him, but judging by the state of his apartment, it couldn't be very much.

An equally-exhausted looking Emily exited the Sciences building not long after. She threw herself into the front seat next to Jeannie and heaved a long sigh. "This is going to be a long four years," she announced.

"Tell me about it," Jeannie agreed. "But think on the bright side—we don't have to worry about classes for another eighteen hours."

"Classes aren't what I'm worrying about," said Emily. "Do you still want to go through with tonight?"

"Of course," Jeannie replied firmly. "I don't care how upset Jack is about it. Actually, I think Arkham will suit him better than a more traditional date spot. I bet he'll say something along the lines of 'at least the inmates are more interesting than a typical moviegoer' or something like that."

Emily laughed. "I was thinking about your feelings, but that doesn't matter. Anyway, how are you guys doing? Have your parents finally accepted that you're dating yet?"

"Kind of," said Jeannie. "After I reminded them I'm eighteen and have the right to make my own decisions, they backed off a little bit. I think they're trying out a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy. We just have to be careful not to kiss or anything like that in front of them. My dad goes ballistic even if we hold hands."

Her friend smiled. "You seem to be pretty serious, so that's good. I never had you pegged as the type to just date casually."

"You mean you wouldn't classify Richard as casual?" Jeannie asked. "Speaking of which, did you hear what happened a few weeks ago? He cheated on Lacie with another girl from high school…"

They continued gossiping all the way back into Gotham, at which point Jeannie was forced to switch her focus back to driving. Luckily, traffic in the Narrows was light and she got to Jack's apartment easily.

"He lives _here_?" Emily asked dubiously as Jeannie pulled up to the sidewalk. "Gosh, it's rather…different."

Jeannie drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, looking everywhere but at Emily. She could feel her accusing gaze and knew that her friend was beginning to question the relationship. To be fair, there were two prostitutes in plain sight and muffled yells were emanating from the building across the street. It was hard not to judge someone by where they lived—and it seemed like Emily was having the toughest job of all.

"I'm sure he'll upgrade soon," Jeannie said weakly.

"I can't imagine living here," said Emily distastefully. _Of course you can't,_ Jeannie thought with a hint of bitterness. _You with your five-bedroom house and Mercedes._

They sat in awkward silence for another three minutes before the back passenger door was thrown open and a tall figure pulled himself in. "Hope I'm not late," he said cheerfully.

"Just in time," Jeannie replied, although it was nearly twenty minutes after he promised he would meet her.

"I think visiting hours are until seven," said Emily. "So we have an hour and a half."

"Well, if it isn't Emily Nashton," Jack exclaimed in a mock-surprised tone. "How _are_ you doing? Better than your brother, I hope."

Emily plastered on an evidently fake smile. "Is _he_ having a bad day, Jeannie?"

"No, he's just an asshole," she answered, shooting him a warning look though the rearview mirror. _Please, Jack, don't make an enemy of my best friend._

* * *

Arkham Asylum loomed like Dracula's castle over the surrounding Narrows, casting a grim shadow over the lake and docks. There were no houses in the area aside from the rehabilitation centers provided for the patients who were "behaving themselves". Jeannie had never been this close to the asylum before and began to regret her decision once she saw the massive, wrought-iron gate blocking the entrance. Was it meant to keep people out…or the prisoners in?

A guard stopped them at the gate and Emily flashed him an ID card. "Are you bringing guests?" he asked in a slightly disbelieving tone. When she nodded, he continued, "They'll need to sign in at the front desk. After that, they're free to use their visitor card whenever they want."

"I expect they need them for all of the school trips here," Jack said. Amazingly, the guard's lips twitched as if he was about to laugh.

"You got a good sense of humor, kid. Believe me, you'll need it once you're in there," he said darkly before waving them through.

The lobby was a constricted, cramped room that felt like a cell in itself. The only piece of furniture in sight was a front desk. It was completely covered in paperwork and a sign with the words "TO-DO" on it in red ink was taped to the wall opposite. Despite the seemingly daunting list, the man lounging behind the desk appeared to be half-asleep. Emily had to clear her throat twice before he looked up.

"Visitors?" he asked lazily. "The three of you look rather young."

"I'm Emily Nashton and I'm here to visit my brother Edward. I want to get visitor passes for my…friends."

The receptionist reached under the desk and shoved two forms at Jack and Jeannie. "Fill these out," he grunted.

Jeannie glanced down the form, wondering why in the world they needed to know her hometown. But looking at Emily's hopeful and expectant face, she knew she had to go through with it.

_**Full Name:** _ _Jennifer Louise Kerr_

_**Birthday:** _ _May 21, 1980_

_**Hometown:** _ _Chicago, IL_

_**Height:** _ _5'7"_

_**Hair color:** _ _Blonde_

_**Eye color:** _ _Blue_

As she handed in her paper she caught sight of Jack's and gave his elbow a hard shove when she saw he'd written his name as Joseph Kerr. "Give that to me," she insisted, snatching it out of his hands.

_**Full Name:** _ _Jack Andrew Napier_

_**Birthday:** _ _January 13, 1980_

_**Hometown:** _ _Gotham City, NJ_

_**Height:** _ _6'1"_

_**Hair color:** _ _Blond_

_**Eye color:** _ _Brown_

"How do you know my middle name?" Jack accused, reading over her shoulder.

Jeannie froze for a split second, wondering how to respond. She'd been meaning to bring up exactly how much she knew about his childhood for a while, but so far she'd always chickened out at the last minute. "I…uh…my dad told me," she stuttered. It wasn't _technically_ a lie…just not the entire truth.

Jack gave her a searching look but let the matter drop; Jeannie knew it would stay bubbling just under the surface until he decided it was time to bring it up again. She made a quick vow to think up ways to approach the conversation before he could catch her off guard a second time.

Once they'd received their visitor passes, another guard led them into the asylum itself; down a long, whitewashed corridor where fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed above them and unmarked doors hid the entrance to countless cells. Jeannie didn't want to betray her fear, but she was feeling more than a little bit nervous. She inconspicuously slipped her hand into Jack's and although he gave a slight exasperated sigh, he didn't try to pull away.

Their guard finally stopped at the very last cell in the corridor, next to a heavy metal door. "Where does that lead to?" Jeannie asked.

"Maximum Security," the guard said simply. "Visitors aren't allowed there."

"Why not?"

Jack chuckled in her ear. "Why do ya _think, Jean_ -nie?"

Emily inserted a key into the cell door and it made a loud clanging noise before swinging open. "Come on, guys," she said quietly. "He'll be fine."

Jeannie had to tug on Jack's hand to get him to move; his eyes were brighter and more alert than usual as he tore his gaze away from the door to the Maximum Security wing.

Edward's cell was obscenely tiny, barely big enough for four people to stand comfortably in. It must have been half the size of Jeannie's bedroom. The only objects in the room was a narrow piece of wood that looked more like an ancient torture device than a bed and a small pot sitting in the corner. Curled up against the wall was a shaking form clad in an orange jumpsuit.

"Edward?" Emily asked softly, dropping to her knees in front of him. Jeannie had to look behind them to make sure the guard was still there.

Slowly, the figure raised its head. Edward Nashton's electric green eyes took in the sight of his younger sister and he jerked away from her. His head swiveled up like an owl's and his frantic gaze met Jeannie's. She involuntarily squeezed Jack's hand and tried to take a step backwards, but she just couldn't tear her eyes away from his.

Edward stumbled to his feet and stared down at her. The silence dragged on in the cell until he croaked, "What is a two-word, fifteen-letter synonym for risk?"

Jeannie could feel Emily and Jack's curious and wary gazes on her, but she ignored them. Her mind was working overtime as she struggled to figure out the answer. "Is it…life-threatening?"

Edward's expression didn't change, but his eyes lit up, as if a switch had been turned on behind them. Hesitantly, Jeannie smiled at him.

Jack tensed beside her, sensing what was going to happen seconds before it actually did. Just as Edward reached for Jeannie, Jack coolly stepped in front of her and blocked his path. Edward's eyes turned cold, and some sort of energy was transferred between the two boys. "Is that all you've got?" Jack asked mockingly. At first, Jeannie thought he was talking to her, but his eyes were still fixed on Edward.

It was almost like the elder Nashton was operating on a wavelength only Jack could understand. Jeannie wondered if they were having some sort of unspoken conversation—not telepathy or anything of the sort, but something else. Whatever the case, no one was daring to move.

When the connection finally broke, Jack was grinning from ear to ear. He adjusted his grip on Jeannie's hand, shaking his head. "He's not insane."

"I beg your pardon?" Emily asked, shocked.

"He's not insane," Jack repeated, louder this time. He looked down at Jeannie, his eyes alight with the same emotion she'd seen when he was staring at the Maximum Security door. "He's saner than most people. Even you, love. He's just smart. Goddamned smart."


	23. December 1998: Realization

_The new girl was staring at him._

_Jack suspected she wasn't doing it on purpose—most likely out of disgust or pity—but every time he looked over at her, boom—she would quickly duck her head back down. It annoyed him; she'd been in the class for months and hadn't even given him a second glance until now. What was the sudden interest? Had she noticed he didn't have any friends either and wanted to talk to him? He scoffed. No girl in her right mind would want to talk to the "weird freak" Jack Napier. Then again, what was the fun in talking with_ anyone _in their right mind?_

_At recess, Jack spotted her again. She was walking across the courtyard, flicking a coin between her fingers. As he watched, she began to grow more confident, tossing the coin higher and higher. Every time she successfully caught it a tiny smile would appear on her face and she would quickly look around to see if anyone had noticed. Little did she know Jack had been watching her the entire time._

_What was her name? He struggled to remember…he had heard it once…it started with a J, like his. Jessica? Jacqueline?_

_The new girl threw the coin the highest she had yet, but this time it slipped from her fingers and fell with a clatter onto the ground. Before Jack was even conscious of what he was doing, he'd left the alcove and was walking toward her._

" _Oh, sorry," she said to him as she kneeled to pick it up. He fought to control a grin—she thought she'd interrupted his path._

_For once, Jack's lightning-fast reflexes were to put to good use as he snatched the coin seconds before her hand even reached the ground. She straightened up in some surprise, frowning at him._

_The second their eyes met, Jack counted backwards in his head: three…two…one…score! They had barely exchanged a glance, but already she'd noticed his scars. To his mild disbelief, however, her gaze didn't linger on them—instead she looked at a point somewhere on his shoulder. "Thanks," she mumbled._

_Well, that was certainly odd. She'd been staring at him all through class and now she couldn't even look him in the eye? Something different was going on. Jack studied her face carefully—she seemed like a typical, wholesome, all-American girl: blonde hair that fell past her shoulders, light blue eyes, and a heart-shaped face. Jack was certain he'd never seen her before in his life, but something in her expression was familiar to him. Her eyes were searching, intense…he had seen someone else with the exact same look, but who?_

_Her eyebrows furrowed while she waited for him to say something. Normally Jack would have simply smirked and walked off, but for some reason he felt compelled to speak to her. "You're the new girl, right?"_

_It was an obvious question, but her face relaxed. "Yeah, I'm Jennifer."_

_That was it. He'd heard the teacher say the name more than once, but had never paid attention. He didn't pay attention to anything, much, unless it was a new joke or a new book._

" _Jack," he replied as a way of introducing himself._

_Somewhere above them, a loud bell echoed throughout the schoolyard, signaling that recess was over. Jack unconsciously let himself memorize her face, storing it in the back of his mind much like he'd stored Rachel Dawes' face in his memory six years ago. Without saying goodbye, he abruptly turned and walked away from her._

_Jennifer. The name suited her._

* * *

**Three Months Later**

**December 1998**

"Jeannie, answer the phone!"

"Could you get me some wine, please, Jeannie?"

"Come help us with Susan's dress, Jeannie!"

Did it _look_ like she had five arms? Jeannie straightened up from where she'd been searching in the cutlery drawer for forks and impatiently dragged a hand through her already-messy hair. Her eyes fell on Jack lounging at the kitchen table, tilting his chair back on two legs and looking utterly at ease. He raised up a bottle of beer. "Cheers," he said sarcastically.

Jeannie pretended she had the strength to glare at him. "Jack, you're underage."

"So?" he retorted. "If it helps me get through this wedding, I'm all for it."

She exhaled loudly and tied her hair back in a sloppy ponytail, trying to ignore the thrill that surged through her body as he continued regarding her. They'd just "celebrated"—that is, they went to a movie, which was all they could afford—their six-month anniversary. Jeannie was both amazed and ecstatic their relationship had survived this long, despite countless arguments and disagreements. But she could never stay mad at Jack for long—actually, she could never stay mad at him at _all_. Something about him made her forgot everything he had done wrong and she always forgave him. Jeannie had come to the conclusion that she could just sit and stare at him forever. She couldn't get enough of his kisses and caresses. Sometimes she just sat in his lap and twirled her hands through his hair while her heart pounded out an erratic rhythm. It was wonderful, absolutely wonderful. Even the stress of university and Edward's deteriorating condition couldn't stop her happiness at being with Jack Napier. Was she in love? It seemed logical to think so…but neither of them had said the words out loud.

So here they were, stuck in that awkward stage between infatuated teenage couple and actual lovers, not knowing what to do next. Jeannie had brought Jack as her date to Liam's wedding and almost regretted it, because she could tell he had never been inside a rich, _really_ rich, house before.

They were at Susan's large, spacious mansion in the Palisades. Jeannie had never been to this part of Gotham before, but judging by its reputation she was sure Wayne Manor was somewhere close by.

"Did you hear me?" Mrs. Kerr called from the next room, where she, Harriet and Rebecca were helping Susan into her wedding dress. "We need an extra pair of hands!"

It looked like fetching wine and answering the phone would have to wait. Jeannie hurried into the adjoining room, nearly knocking over the ten-foot tall Christmas tree looming in the corner.

Susan was sitting on a high-backed chair facing the fireplace. Her dark hair was pulled together in a twist by countless bobby pins and the stark white of her dress only accentuated her pale face. Jeannie's mother and sisters were flitting around her, bringing her drinks and snacks. Her own mother, Mrs. Abbott, was whispering in her ear.

Since the Abbotts' backyard was ridiculously large—ten acres, to be exact—it was decided that there was an appropriate amount of space to host a wedding in. Jeannie just hoped there would be enough space in the house for all of the guests—the doorbell hadn't stopped ringing since she'd arrived.

"Is Jack still in the kitchen?" Rebecca asked when she noticed Jeannie standing in the doorway. "If he is, tell him he can make himself useful and help bring the food outside."

"I doubt that will work," Jeannie answered. "He'll probably eat it before he even _gets_ outside."

Mrs. Abbott turned her head around and said, "I don't mean to seem rude…but does anyone know how he got his scars? They're too lacerated to ever heal properly. Whoever tried to stitch them up did a pretty bad job."

Everyone exchanged glances before shrugging. "Even I don't know, and I'm his girlfriend," Jeannie said wryly. "I don't think I'll ever know."

But she could suspect—oh yes, she could suspect. It wasn't hard to guess what Paul Napier might have done in a fit of rage one day to his son. But on the other hand…Jack acted like he was _proud_ of his scars, like they made him stand apart from everyone else…if his father had given him those scars, wouldn't he be bitter about it; even angry? If Paul had deliberately disfigured him for life, he should be upset, not pleased.

Unless _he'd_ done it himself…but that option was too horrible for Jeannie to even consider. Cutting his own face open seemed too drastic, even for Jack.

* * *

Susan's hair and makeup was finished half an hour later. Guests were now moving in a steady flow through the house and out into the backyard, where the men had raised a huge tent that was at least the width of the Kerrs' house and twice as wide. It was meant to protect against the frigid winter wind, but nonetheless the walls rippled and shivered every so often.

After she'd finished helping her almost-sister-in-law, Jeannie headed back to the kitchen to fetch Jack. He'd polished off the beer and was now starting on a glass of champagne. She elbowed him hard in the ribs. "Are you drunk?"

"Of course not," he said, and inwardly she was impressed; he didn't slur in the least. She wrapped her hand around his as they made their way outside to the tent; to her pleasure and surprise Jack absentmindedly played with her fingers as they did. Normally, he hated showing public displays of affection, although it was hard to classify hand-holding as PDA.

The interior of the tent was roomy and comfortable. Long tables laden with food were lined up against each wall and rows upon rows of chairs faced the front. Jeannie led Jack over to the groom's side and sat down. "Don't worry," she said sarcastically. "It'll all be over in an hour."

"I hope so," he replied without missing a beat. "I have to work this afternoon."

"Jack," she said helplessly. "Look, I invited you to this. Can't you at least act grateful?"

"Of course I'm grateful, _Jean_ -nie," he said under the guise of innocence. "Now I'll know what kind of alcohol to buy next."

Jeannie ground her teeth in annoyance. Jack laughed. "Listen, tiger: if I invited _you_ to my brother's wedding and you barely knew him or his bride-to-be, would you be thrilled?"

He had a point. "You don't need to be so rude about it, though," she muttered.

* * *

As time passed, more guests began to fill the seats. The rest of Jeannie's family sat down around her and Jack, causing them to cut their conversation short. Jeannie didn't like to talk about matters such as Jack's financial situation or workplace in front of her family. They were all sure to disapprove, especially Mr. Kerr. She was sure her parents were praying regularly for a breakup.

Liam appeared at the front of the tent, straightening his tie nervously and blinking rapidly. His dark blond hair shone in the muted sunlight and he shifted from foot to foot. His eyes kept drifting over to the doorway, where Susan would appear shortly. Jeannie felt both amusement and pity at seeing her brother squirm.

A phantom piano became to play around them and the assembled crowd grew silent. Everyone craned their necks to get a better view of the entrance. Jeannie was watching her brother—he looked as if he was about to faint. If only she had a camera…

Suddenly, the entrance flap fluttered and a tall, elegant figure dressed in white appeared next to a man dressed in a dark tuxedo. Everyone scrambled to stand up and Jeannie had to forcefully nudge Jack to get him to move.

But her boyfriend's uncooperativeness wasn't the first thing on her mind. The music swelled, and Jeannie's heart swelled along with it. The blood in her veins seemed to have morphed into a different substance; something thinner and quicker that flew through her body, electrifying every sensation.

She could see everything as clear as day in her mind's eye: instead of Susan walking up the aisle, it was Jeannie herself, gripping onto her father's arm. His face wasn't clouded with disapproval; instead, he wore a wide smile and his eyes sparkled. The room was filled with beaming guests; Jeannie could pick out Oliver, Miranda and Emily among them. Strings of lights adorned the walls and there were pools of sunshine on the deep blue carpet.

But the best was yet to come: standing ahead of her, next to the altar, was Jack. Tall and slender, he was dressed in a sharp black suit that contrasted perfectly with his skin. His blond curls fell down to his shoulders, and even his scars didn't detract from his appearance.

The look in his eyes, though, was what Jeannie craved most. She'd seen hints of it before—most notably when they'd first carried out the reckless plan at the police station four years ago, and when he'd arrived back in Gotham; but it was now that it was at its most prominent. He could go on looking at her like that forever and she would be happy.

He was hers to have, she realized. _Forever._

With that insight, Jeannie snapped back to herself. She felt giddy, electrified. Everything was so _clear_ now: she knew what she had to do in order to be happy. How could she have lived eighteen years and never felt anything _close_ to this?

Once, she'd been convinced she was in love with Oliver. The notion was almost laughable now. What she had felt was nothing compared to now.

Jeannie wasn't sure if it was just a temporary high or a lasting feeling—whatever it was, it was the best thing she'd ever felt. Her eyes roamed over Jack's face, memorizing each facet and feature as best as she could. The ceremony drifted away until it was just a hum of voices in the distance.

In a sudden rush of endorphins and unrivaled passion, Jeannie whispered, "Jack…I think I…"

"What is it, _Jean_ -nie?" he murmured back, visibly happy for a distraction.

"I love you."

She said the words louder than she'd intended them to be, but nobody else appeared to have heard. Jeannie knew she would probably regret it later, but she had to say something or she would explode.

There was no mistaking the momentary surprise in Jacks' eyes. For an entire twenty seconds, he stared at her, first making sure she was serious and then searching for a response. "How much alcohol have you had?" he hissed.

"None," she said, and grinned ruefully.

Jack gazed at her for another second before leaning forward and kissing her quickly on the lips. It wasn't an exact reciprocation, but it was enough. Men didn't like publicly sharing their feelings, anyway.

Half-drunk with her newfound realizations and overwhelming happiness, Jeannie turned back to the front of the tent. She loved Jack Napier. She knew she did.

That had to be enough. Right?


	24. March 1999: Vacation

**Three Months Later**

**March 1999**

Jeannie nervously paced around the airport terminal, compulsively looking over at the escalator. Her parents were supposed to arrive an hour ago. Mr. Kerr had said not to get on the plane without them, but with boarding time just five minutes away it looked like they would miss their flight.

Going back to Chicago for spring break was both a blessing and a curse for Jeannie. On one hand, it would be the first time she'd visited the city in almost five years. On the other, Jack was coming along with her, which was sure to make things infinitely more complicated.

Jeannie loved him very much—sometimes so much it literally hurt her chest, like an invisible force was squeezing every last drop of blood out of her heart—but she couldn't deny that he made everything much more difficult.

Like an infatuated teenager, she had been almost dreading the day when she would leave for a week—until Jack had showed up at her door that morning with a plane ticket in his hand. He'd saved up his meager wages to accompany her on the trip. Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Kerr hadn't been very happy, but what could they do? He was paying for himself.

Originally, Jeannie was planning to stay in the adjoining hotel room to her parents', but since Jack couldn't afford a room for himself and she had some generous tips left over from the restaurant, she'd secretly called the hotel and added him as a guest in her room. It would be hard for her parents to try and find alternate sleeping arrangements, because their room had only one bed while Jeannie and Jack's had two. They couldn't very well order him to sleep on the floor. Besides, the hotel was already packed full to the brim with holiday travelers. Jack couldn't stay in another room even if he wanted to.

In a way, Jeannie supposed, it would be interesting, to say the least, to see Mr. Kerr's face when she told him. He'd grudgingly allowed Liam and Susan to live together before they were married, so how could one week in a hotel hurt? If he _really_ wanted, he could ensure that the connecting door was left open at all times…but that meant privacy would go out the window. Jeannie was sure there could be nothing more unattractive than lying in bed listening to a significant other's parent snore or talk in their sleep.

But whatever the outcome, the damage was done. Her parents would just have to deal with it…if they even showed up. Jeannie had left the house an hour earlier to get Jack and her mother had been carrying the suitcases downstairs. Had they gotten held up in traffic? With the amount of businesses near the airport, that could be likely.

The loudspeaker beeped and a cool female voice announced, "Flight 2432 to Chicago is now boarding at Gate 15."

In desperation, Jeannie pulled out her cell phone and dialed her father first, then her house. There was no answer at either. She groaned and jogged back toward the waiting area, where Jack was figuring out a crossword puzzle. He was brilliant at them; he could easily solve one in ten minutes if he concentrated. Jeannie, on the other hand, didn't have patience for games. She became frustrated too easily and gave up.

"All right, so we have two choices," she announced. "One, we stay here to wait for my parents and miss the flight. Two, we get on the plane anyway and risk my father preventing us from ever seeing each other again. What's your pick?"

He pretended to think about it. "How can you make me decide, _Jean_ -nie? It's an impossible choice."

"Jack," she pleaded. "Be serious. I don't know what to do."

"But you know what _I_ want to do," he retorted, stuffing the crossword back in his tiny suitcase and standing up. "Let's go."

She dutifully followed him to the boarding area and then onto the plane. The two empty seats where her parents were supposed to be seemed to mock her, emphasizing the fact she was deliberately going against her father's orders. It was true she was a legal adult; but then again, Mr. Kerr had the power to throw her out of the house if he so wished. Jeannie did not want to face her father's wrath under any circumstances.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed and a message appeared on the screen:

_Dad 10:02 am: Emergency at work. Will miss flight. Come back home & we will figure something else out._

Jeannie showed the text to Jack, who laughed under his breath. "Good call, tiger. We made it just in time."

Feeling nervous, she slowly sent a response:

_Jeannie 10:04 am: We're already on the plane, Dad. I know how to get to the hotel. I will call you when we get there. Xoxo_

She waited nervously for a response. The hugs and kisses at the end were a desperate attempt to mollify him, even though she knew it would be futile.

Mr. Kerr's reply was swift:

_Dad 10:05 am: Jennifer Louise Kerr, you get back here right now. I explicitly told you not to get on the plane without us. Chicago is a dangerous place to wander around by yourself._

Jeannie almost laughed at the last line. Chicago was much safer than Gotham, and her father had no problem with her wandering around _there_. What he was really meant was: I don't want you and Jack together without supervision.

Apparently a text wasn't enough, because barely a minute after it was sent her phone rang, loud and shrill. Jack easily snatched it out of her hand and turned it off. "Problem solved," he said, tossing it to the side. It hit the window with a dull thud and fell right into Jeannie's purse.

" _You_ would be happy about it," she muttered.

"Say that we'll be with your brother," said Jack. "He can't complain then."

"Liam won't lie for me," she sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. "I guess there's not much I can do about it now."

"That's the spirit!" he encouraged. "Just think about a week alone with _me_. That's what you really want, isn't it, love?"

He placed a slight emphasis on the word _love_ , as if to taunt her. Jeannie winced and tried to pretend she hadn't heard anything. Ever since her sudden declaration of love at Liam's wedding, she'd purposely avoided saying the words again. Jack had never brought up the subject; but he'd never returned the words either. It wasn't a question of whether Jeannie knew she loved him or not—she knew she truly did—but she'd said the words too soon. Neither of them were the type to loudly and publicly declare their relationship. Their passion was conveyed in other ways—a stolen kiss or a smile. It was obvious that Jack returned her feelings every bit as much (though, admittedly, it was hard to tell sometimes) and that was enough for Jeannie. Just hearing him say the pet name was enough.

"You do know that my parents are going to get on the next flight?" she said dubiously.

Jack shrugged. "Until then…" He winked suggestively. Jeannie unwittingly felt herself blush.

"Sex on an airplane?" she asked. "That's not very classy."

"Oh, I didn't mean _here_ ," Jack replied. "We have a room all, ah, to ourselves, don't we?"

Jeannie gave him an "are you serious" look. It was no secret that Jack wanted to take the relationship to the _next level_ , as Emily called it, but every time Jeannie seriously considered the matter something always happened. There was usually an interruption or she would start to feel panicked and resist. Being intimate wasn't something that she thought about very often, but it was obvious Jack did, and she would have to make a decision sooner or later.

She was suddenly reminded of Oliver and Miranda's hotel room, with the box of condoms lying on the floor. Did she really want that to be her? And what if—God forbid—she and Jack ever broke up? She would certainly regret it _then_.

Thinking about breaking up with Jack was too horrible to contemplate, so Jeannie switched her thoughts to a happier topic: she could show him her old house, they could go to her favourite cafe, they could walk along the river…

As long as nothing screwed up. With Jack, things _never_ went according to plan.

* * *

Jeannie fell asleep halfway through the flight and woke up to the grinding sound of tires scraping against concrete as the plane landed. She sat up blearily and looked over at Jack, who was scribbling something onto a piece of paper. At a closer look, Jeannie saw it was full of complicated mathematical equations and formulas. "How'd you do that?" she mumbled.

"Do what?" he replied, not looking up.

"That math…I thought you never finished school."

He gave her a disapproving look. "I didn't, _Jean_ -nie. I don't need some teacher showing me how to do everything in order to figure this out."

" _I'm_ planning to become a teacher," she said, feeling slightly hurt.

He noticed her affront and laughed. "There's still time to change your mind, tiger. Become a bank robber. It pays _excellent_ money and you'll have flexible hours."

Jeannie tried to consider the idea, but the thought of herself as a criminal was laughable. Jack, on the other hand…"So you're speaking from personal experience?"

"Perhaps." He winked at her. "Now let's go, love. I don't want to sit here all day."

* * *

After they had retrieved their luggage and made their way through the airport, Jeannie hailed a taxi and soon they were speeding through the streets of Chicago. Some places she still recognized; others were new developments or new buildings. She felt as if she was an imposter—that she didn't quite belong there. In fact, she was beginning to feel more at home in Gotham. It was strange, since both cities were fairly similar to each other. Gotham just had a higher homicide rate and triple the population of Chicago. Still, Jeannie felt as if she'd entered a different world entirely.

The taxi screeched to a grinding halt in front of the hotel. Jeannie threw a twenty-dollar bill at the driver and climbed out, ignoring the pointed glances thrown Jack's way by passerby. Some were disgusted; others pitying. Jeannie expected this: as a rule, in Gotham, nobody openly stared at his scars because things of that nature weren't uncommon there. If someone was covered in blood or screams sounded from a building, no one paid much attention because, well, it was _Gotham._ In Chicago, Jack stood out. People were so used to the ordinary that he must seem like some kind of freak. Jeannie knew that didn't bother him in the least; but it bothered _her_. Couldn't they handle anyone looking out of the ordinary?

The Kerrs' favorite hotel, ironically enough, had one of the worst reputations in the city. There was a double murder in one of the rooms a decade ago (Jeannie remembered everyone in her third-grade class talking about it for weeks on end) and many guests claimed the hotel was haunted and the ghosts of the victims could often be seen slinking around the hallways.

As a result of the reputation, the rates were significantly lower than that of most decent hotels and it was never crowded. Jeannie had stayed there twice before and never experienced any supernatural occurrences. Rebecca once said she'd seen a pearly white figure drifting down the hallway late at night, but nobody believed her.

Jeannie related this tale to Jack as they stood in line at the reception desk. He laughed so hard the scars seemed to extend another inch across his face, almost to his ears. "Ghosts?" he said disbelievingly. "Now _that's_ a good one!"

"You mean you're not a believer?" she asked teasingly. "That disappoints me, Jack."

He finally stopped chuckling, brushing a stray curl out of his eyes and glancing around the lobby. "Tiger, the only _ghosts_ around here are the overworked staff."

Jeannie noticed his uncharacteristically interested expression and briefly thought of saying, "What is it? Never been in a hotel before?" until it occurred to her that he probably hadn't. Instead she bit her tongue, probably wisely, because there was no telling what his response would be.

After waiting in line for fifteen minutes behind a couple who had forgotten their luggage at the airport, Jeannie received the room key from a harried-looking receptionist. As she and Jack stepped into the elevator, he remarked, "You know, I think I just saw a flash of white out of the corner of my eye…"

"Ugh, stop it!" Jeannie complained. The last thing she needed was a ghost floating around in their room. Not only would it witness the awkward sleeping arrangements, it would be able to hear Mr. Kerr's yells when he arrived. Jeannie flipped open her phone and stared down at the blank screen, wondering if she should dare to turn it back on. _I'll call them when we get to the room,_ she thought.

Although the receptionist had promised them a "good view", the window looked out over a grimy parking lot and the stark concrete wall of the neighboring building. Jeannie flopped down on one of the beds, feeling the hard mattress push against her back. The distinctive hotel smell coated the pillow and blanket. She stared up at the patterned ceiling, listening to the static chatter of the television as Jack flipped channels.

"So, are you gonna call your parents?" he asked after a while. Jeannie felt the bed creak under another weight and turned her head to see him sprawled out beside her.

"Fine," she groaned. "I was trying to put it off, but if you insist…" She dialed Mr. Kerr's number and put the phone to her ear, hoping Jack couldn't hear.

Her father answered on the third ring. "Where are you?"

"At the hotel. Listen, Dad, I'm sorry—"

"No, Jeannie. It's fine." There was a crackling on the other end as Mr. Kerr sighed. "I exaggerated the matter. I'm sorry."

"What caused the change of heart?"

"It wasn't fair to become upset if you were already on the plane. You couldn't help it."

"Thank you, sir," Jack drawled loudly, making no effort to conceal his laughter.

Jeannie tried to shove him off the bed, but he was too strong. "Where are you guys?" she asked. "Are you still in Gotham?"

"Yes. The next flight doesn't leave for another hour. We should be there by five o'clock."

Jeannie looked over at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was just after twelve, meaning she and Jack had five hours to themselves. "All right, Dad. See you later."

"Bye, sweetie. Be careful, okay?" There was a hint of warning in his voice.

"I'll try." She ended the call and let her head drop back onto the pillow. It was unusual for her father to switch moods just like that. Mrs. Kerr probably had something to do with it. Jeannie made a mental note to prepare dinner one night in thanks.

The television abruptly switched off and Jack rolled over onto his side, his face just inches from Jeannie's. "What do you want to do, tiger?" he asked, but it was a rhetorical question. They were so close his hair tickled Jeannie's face and their breaths mingled.

"I thought you wanted to watch TV," she said breathlessly, half-hoping he would move away so she could gather her thoughts.

Jack made a disparaging noise. "Don't kid yourself, _Jean_ -nie."

Something about the way he said her name; as infuriating as it had originally been, it had eventually grown on her—melted the rest of her defenses and she pulled his face down to hers. Without thinking, she gently traced the outlines of his scars, feeling the rough tissue and the jagged edges. "Do they hurt?" she murmured when he gave her room to breathe.

"Used to," Jack whispered. "Now I barely notice them."

Jeannie kissed him again, struggling not to make a noise when he ran his tongue over her bottom lip. Their ragged breathing was the only sound in the room now. Even the constant hum of the air conditioner had stopped. _I love you¸_ she wanted to say. _I don't care what anyone else thinks._

Jack ran his hand down the length of her body to her thigh and pulled it around his waist. Jeannie's heart was beating so furiously she felt like it would burst at any moment. This was real, this was happening…it was so much more than anything she had imagined—they were really going to do it—

In movies, it always seemed as if everything was moving so slowly. The actors would spent hours kissing before even attempting to take off their clothes. In Jeannie's case, it was entirely different. Time itself seemed sped up and the entire world fell away. The only thing that mattered was Jack; the way his hands reached for her shirt and the way his legs wrapped around hers, as if trying to hold her in place. Jeannie wished he wasn't wearing a buttoned shirt; it would take her so much longer to rid him of it. She clumsily fumbled with the buttons, trying to pretend that this wasn't entirely new to her. To his credit, Jack seemed equally inept—his hands kept getting stuck on the zipper of her sweater.

Jeannie was so immersed in him and thoughts of what they were about to do that her mental faculties were temporarily hindered. She smiled stupidly as she murmured, "Just don't keep me locked up forever like your father would."

It was meant as a joke, but Jack's hands froze. He slowly lifted his lips from her neck and stared down at her disbelievingly. "What are you talking about?"

As Jeannie came back to herself, dazed from the sudden stop and scrambling to process what had happened, she noticed the immediate suspicion in his eyes. They were no longer heavy-lidded with the promise of intimacy. "I meant what your father did to your mother."

"How did you know that?" Jack demanded. His eyes narrowed and he untangled himself from her, quickly doing up his shirt. He seemed unfazed by her obvious disorientation.

It all came back to her in a rush: she'd mistakenly revealed the secret. She thought of lying, but there was no way she could lie herself out of things now. She would have to tell the truth. "I…uh…my dad told me," she said, not meeting his eyes.

"Told you _what_?" Jack said. His voice seemed to be quieting as his anger built. When she didn't answer right away, he ordered, "Look at me!"

It was both an order and a warning. There was an edge to his voice that had never been directed at her before. Jeannie felt unsettled. "He told me about your childhood," she said. "About how your parents met and how your mother died."

Jack's expression was now torn between fury and incredulity. He stared at her for another second and suddenly pushed himself away from the bed. "That's how you knew my middle name," he snarled. "You were lying to me. I thought you said you couldn't stand liars."

Jeannie could only look at him with terrified eyes. Was it best to try and explain, or wait until his anger had cooled?

Jack began to pace around the room agitatedly, muttering under his breath. Twice Jeannie saw him ball his hands into fists. She made a terrified squeak in spite of herself. Jack whirled around to face her, clearly registering her fear. "Did you tell anyone?" he barked.

"N—no," Jeannie said immediately, shaking her head.

Jack glared at her for another minute before striding to the door and wrenching it open. He didn't look back as he slammed it shut.

Shakily, Jeannie stood up and tiptoed into the bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror and stared at her worried face. Her hair was mussed and there were red spots on her face and neck where Jack's scars had bitten into her skin.

He was undoubtedly angry. Angry that she had lied to him, while he was perfectly honest. Jeannie remembered, quite clearly, once saying to him that she hated dishonesty. Now she was showing herself as a liar and a hypocrite.

Perhaps it might not have been an issue to other couples, but Jeannie knew that it was an enormous one to Jack. He'd had nobody to rely upon his entire life; no one to trust. Maybe he'd begun to trust her. Had that all vanished?

Jeannie didn't know how long she stood there before she realized that an angry Jack was wandering around the hotel somewhere—or even outside. What would he do to all the poor people that got in his way? She had to find him.

Instead of waiting for the elevator to show up, Jeannie found the stairwell and launched herself down it, taking the steps two at a time. He probably went down to the lobby—there was a bar that would be perfect for him to consume copious amounts of alcohol. Jeannie had never experienced him drunk, but even Jack had to have a tolerance level. No matter how calm her father was now, he would surely explode if he arrived to find his youngest daughter's boyfriend drunk.

Jeannie was about to enter the lobby when she heard a door below close. Frowning, she peered over the edge of the staircase. That was strange—she hadn't heard another person on the stairs. It didn't look like there was anyone there either. Was it just her imagination playing tricks on her?

"Hello?" she called, but the only answer was her own echo. _Maybe it was the ghosts._ But it couldn't be. Ghosts didn't exist.

There was a movement at the bottom of the stairs and Jeannie could have sworn she saw the hem of a dress swishing out of sight. In spite of herself, she raced to the bottom of the stairs and looked around, but the area was deserted.

Maybe whoever it was had gone outside. Jeannie opened the door that led to an alley a tiny crack, just in time to see three men look up at her and run. She stepped outside, worried. Shouldn't _she_ be running from _them_? It took her eyes a while to adjust to the bright sunlight before she realized what they had been doing.

Slumped against the brick wall of the hotel was Jack, blood dripping from his face and splattering onto the ground. It didn't take long for Jeannie to piece together what had happened: the men, most likely part of a gang, had challenged Jack to a fight when they'd spotted him. Even though he was incredibly agile and strong, he was no match for the men, who were probably all trained fighters.

Jeannie rushed over to the injured Jack, who barely lifted up his head. His hair was matted together and beginning to clump with blood. There were several crimson stains on his shirt and jeans, but worst of all were his scars. They had opened up again and were now more noticeable than ever as pools of blood gathered at the sides of his mouth. Jeannie had never seen him as helpless as this. He'd seen _her_ injured, but never the other way around.

So how was she supposed to get him back to their room? There was no way she could carry him, and he didn't look like he was able to walk on his own. "Jack Napier, you are the most infuriating person I have ever met," Jeannie muttered. She bent down and looped his left arm around her shoulders so she was supporting part of his weight and then slowly got to her feet. Jack leaned heavily on her and his head lolled forward, sending a few more splashes of blood to the ground. Jeannie took a quick look at his eyes: they were unfocused and cloudy. He seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness.

It was only when they got back to the door that Jeannie began to worry: what if it locked from the outside so they couldn't get back in? But her fears were short-lived, as the door easily opened when she turned the handle.

Jack suddenly groaned and almost fell onto the stairs. It took all of Jeannie's strength to keep him upright. "Damn it," she hissed. "I should have left you outside—that would teach you a lesson."

To his credit, the absence of a sarcastic comment confirmed her assumption that he was seriously wounded. Jeannie wondered if he was even aware of what was happening.

She managed to drag him up the first flight of stairs and lean him against the door that opened into the lobby. If no one was watching, she could pull him into the elevator and save at least half an hour of trying to lead him up the stairs.

Jeannie dashed out into the lobby and pressed the button for the elevator furiously. She waited until the metal door slid open and rushed back to Jack, pulling him outside and then into the elevator. Luckily, no one seemed to be around except for a bored bellhop, who carelessly smacked his gum as he watched them with glazed eyes. He was probably used to strange guests by now and so wouldn't think twice about it. At least, Jeannie told herself that was the case.

When the elevator shot upward, Jack lost his balance and slumped onto the floor again. It was so pathetic Jeannie almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. They hadn't even been in Chicago for an hour and already Jack had gotten into a fight. Jeannie thanked her lucky stars they weren't in New York or Los Angeles—he would probably have been dead by now.

Jack seemed to come back to himself as Jeannie hauled him out of the elevator and down the hallway to their room. He began to swear under his breath and cough loudly—Jeannie hoped he wouldn't start vomiting blood. She had no idea how to deal with _that_.

Finally, they were back inside the room and Jeannie gave a loud, well-deserved sigh of relief. Her aching shoulder was mercifully relieved of Jack's weight as she pushed him down onto the bed. Now all she needed to do was mop up his face—he looked like a victim from a horror movie.

She grabbed a stack of towels from the bathroom and drowned them in water, not bothering to wring out the excess liquid. If Jack got drenched in cold water, he deserved it.

When Jeannie began to mop up the now-dried blood on his face, he tried to push her hands away. "God, stop it!" she protested. "I'm trying to _help_ you, in case you haven't noticed!"

Jack's eyes flickered open and focused on her. He tried to smirk, but the wince immediately afterward verified it was painful to move. Jeannie put a finger to his lips. "Don't talk unless you want the scars to open up again."

Thankfully, he stayed silent until she'd soaked two towels with blood. His face looked marginally better, but his shirt and pants were still filthy. Jeannie thought about giving him a shower, but no—that was out of the question. She turned red just _thinking_ about it.

Jack attempted to prop himself up on the bed, but his elbows gave out underneath him and he collapsed back down. Jeannie could clearly see his frustration at being rendered so helpless. "Are you feeling better?"

He nodded once and opened his mouth to speak, but it came out as little more than a whisper. "Assholes…were waiting for someone to leave the hotel….they tried to jump me but I…fought back…"

"Did you honestly think you would win against them?" Jeannie asked dubiously. "Actually, don't answer that." She stood up. "I'm going to go get some rubbing alcohol from the front desk—"

"No," Jack wheezed. "I'm fine…just need to lie down for a while…"

"Jack, you belong in the hospital. Do you want your entire body to look like your face does?"

"It's too late for that," he grumbled. "If you hadn't interrupted me this afternoon you could have discovered that for yourself…"

Jeannie winced. "About that…um, I should have apologized right away. I didn't mean to lie to you. Honestly, Jack, it doesn't make any difference to me how you grew up…all that matters is the present."

"You sound like a greeting card," he scoffed. "Listen…it's _my_ fault, _Jean-_ nie _._ I shouldn't have overreacted. "

"Thanks for the apology," she said mockingly, but inwardly she was pleased things were fine between them. Jack's moods could change in an instant; she ought to know better by now.

"Are you going to give me a shower?" he asked sarcastically. "Or a sponge bath?"

Jeannie laughed. "I don't think so. Imagine what my parents would say when they came through the door! If you can walk, you can take a shower yourself."

Jack looked slightly disappointed. "You can't run from me forever, tiger."

"I'm not. I'm just being realistic."

He gave her a disparaging look and slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed, testing his weight. Jeannie watched worriedly as he stood up and began to hobble to the bathroom door. "You must _really_ love me," he said, steadying himself around the doorframe. "I can't think of anyone who would follow me outside and then bring me back up here."

"I guess I do," Jeannie replied, more ruefully than she intended.

"Like I said, you're the first person I've had positive feelings for," he continued, managing to smile even though it must have been extremely painful. "I never thought the day would come!"

Jeannie felt suddenly lighthearted. Coming from him, that was just as much of an _I love you too_ as anything she'd ever said.


	25. May 1999: Proposal

**Two Months Later**

**May 1999**

It was Jeannie's nineteenth birthday; a day when most others her age would go out and celebrate their last year of being a teenager, but unfortunately she didn't have that luxury. Her exams were in six weeks and she'd been letting her grades slip, so after a nasty wake-up call when she'd failed one of her essays, studying had become her top priority.

But she had to admit to herself that she wasn't only studying for the sake of learning. She was also doing it to take her mind off of what she knew would transpire that weekend.

As soon as she'd come home from the Chicago trip, Jeannie had gone to the pharmacy and bought a pack of birth control pills. It was embarrassing, but she figured it was better to be safe than sorry. After what she and Jack had almost done at the hotel, she knew it wouldn't be very long before they consummated their relationship. So far her only problem had been hiding the pills from her parents.

Now, just over two months later, it looked like her efforts were finally going to come to fruition. Mr. and Mrs. Kerr were away for the weekend at a police memorial in Kentucky. Jeannie was almost certain Jack would want to come over, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to guess what they would do. So instead of sitting around the house unsuccessfully trying to calm herself down, Jeannie turned to studying, something she was in dire need of.

Still, after she'd been hunched over her sociology textbook for two and a half hours, the words began to swim around on the page. When Jeannie realized she had been staring at the same diagram for five minutes, she decided it was time for a break.

Despite the gorgeous weather and the warm temperature, she didn't feel like going outside. Normally she would go for a jog or bike to the grocery store, but today neither of those options were particularly appealing. Jeannie poured herself a bowl of cereal and stared at the blank TV screen, watching her reflection twist and distort.

While searching for something to occupy her time with, Jeannie came across her cell phone hidden under a stack of old newspapers. She hadn't even known it had gone missing.

There were only three unread texts: one from Harriet asking if she could visit sometime during the week; one from Emily saying that Edward was responding well to a new type of medication; and one from Jack saying that he was going to come over later. Jeannie knew by now that meant he would show up sometime between noon and midnight; there was no rhyme or reason to the timing of Jack's visits. She wondered if he was working that day.

Putting her phone aside, Jeannie stretched out on the couch and hung over the side, like she'd used to do when she was a child. Her hair fanned out beneath her and spread across the floor. Everything looked so different when one saw the world upside down; it was an entirely new place. _Too bad my parents can't look at Jack differently,_ Jeannie grumbled to herself. _The least Harriet could do is support me; it's annoying that she'd staying out of it. I stuck up for_ her _when she was pregnant._

Despite their age differences, the Kerr siblings used to be inseparable. Jeannie would mimic her older sisters and adore Liam. They'd only started to drift apart after the move to Gotham. Now, five years later, Jeannie often remembered with a guilty pang that she'd gone for days without thinking about her older siblings. They'd all branched out and were living completely different lives now. Liam was married, Harriet was content to stay in casual relationships and Rebecca was supposedly dating a young actor back in L.A. If an outsider didn't know better, they would have no idea the four of them were related.

The sun burned her face and she closed her eyes, basking in the warmth. It was so rarely sunny in Gotham; the wisest thing to do was take advantage of it as much as she could.

So relaxed was she that she barely noticed when she fell asleep and sank into a dream.

* * *

_She was nine years old again, lying on the grass next to a small pond. Birds called softly in the distance and the grass rippled. The air smelled of summer. Jeannie was plucking daisies and gathering them in her lap; Rebecca had just showed her how to make a flower necklace with them and she couldn't wait to get started._

_The four of them, plus Oliver, were arranged in a circle all facing each other. Liam, who'd just turned fourteen, looked as if he would rather be anywhere than babysitting his little sisters. Harriet and Rebecca, always the closest of the lot, were braiding each others' hair and looked lost in their own world._

_These were happier times; times when the world still held so much promise for Jeannie and she regarded everything with a child's gaze. To her, there was no such thing as unhappiness, despair or abuse; she saw through rose-colored glasses._

" _Hey, Ollie!" she said excitedly, prodding her best friend in the shoulder. "Wanna know what Daddy was telling me about yesterday? He said that if you look at a person's hand, you can tell their future!"_

" _He was joking, Jeannie," Harriet said disparagingly, looking at her sister with a pitying expression. "It's not real."_

" _I still wanna know my future!" Oliver protested. He held out his hands. "Someone tell me!"_

_Liam sighed heavily, as if it was a horrible task he was being entrusted with, and reached across the circle to the younger boy. "You'll be healthy…but your life line ends suddenly here, for some reason—"_

" _I don't want to die early!" Oliver cried._

" _You won't—it's just for fun. Look, see this tiny line here? It means you'll have a child someday."_

" _With me!" Jeannie said happily._

" _Just one?" asked Oliver. When Liam nodded, he looked immensely relieved as he pulled his hand back._

" _Do me next!" Harriet and Rebecca cried as one, extending their hands toward Liam._

" _You'll get married, Becky, but you won't have any children…and you'll have two children, Harriet, but you won't get married." The sisters giggled at their opposite fates and high-fived._

_Jeannie held her right hand out, palm up, and looked expectantly at her brother. He crawled over to her and sat down cross-legged before lightly taking her hand in his own. She watched his expression carefully._

" _You have a pretty long life line, so that's good…but there are a lot of other lines branching out off of it, which means that you'll suffer a lot." Liam's brow furrowed as he concentrated. "Your hand is_ weird _, Jeannie…you'll get married but I can't tell how many kids you'll have. It looks like you'll have two but maybe this is a third one, I can't tell…your heart line crosses your life line, I've never seen_ that _before…"_

" _You're a freak!" Oliver teased. "So does this mean we won't get married?"_

_Liam groaned. "Guys, don't take this seriously. You make your own choices in life. You can't predict your destiny by a couple of lines on your hand."_

_But none of them were listening. Jeannie was still hurt by Oliver's comment, and scratched her palm furiously, hoping she could blot out the lines that supposedly predicted her future._

* * *

She awoke groggy and disoriented, not able to grasp what was happening at first. It took her muddy brain some seconds to remember why she was lying on the couch, and another while to shake herself of the dream.

Gradually, she became aware of a distant noise. At first she thought it was hammering, but as her hearing sharpened she realized someone was knocking impatiently at the door.

Jeannie staggered to her feet and moved as fast as her dazed body would allow her across the room. The clock above the television read three o'clock; she'd been asleep for four hours. So much for studying all day.

"All _right_ , calm down," she grumbled at the door. "Hasn't anyone ever told you patience is a virtue?" she complained when it swung open to reveal an exasperated-looking Jack.

"I've been here for ten minutes, _Jean_ -nie. Patience only goes so far," he said, examining her closely. "What happened to _you_?"

"I was sleeping," she answered, sure that the red imprint of the couch against her cheek would stay there forever. "Shouldn't _you_ be working?"

He shrugged. "I guess. They'll find someone else to take my shift easily enough."

Jeannie wished she could say the same of her restaurant, where her manager pitched it a fit if she was so much as a minute late. Really, it was a wonder she hadn't been fired yet.

Jack took a step inside the front door and had barely shut it behind him when his lips were upon hers. Jeannie turned her head to the side and tried to pull her face away, protesting, "You haven't even been here two minutes! At least pretend to care what I have to say."

"I do," he said huskily, pressing his lips to her earlobe. "I'm not stopping you from talking, am I?"

"Actually, you were just now—" Her speech was cut off as he pushed her down onto an armchair, holding her firmly so she couldn't squirm away.

"Happy birthday," he whispered. "Just don't ask me what your present is."

"You, I'm guessing." She winced as his scars dug uncomfortably into her chin. "Jack—"

He pulled away just enough to get a good look at her face, but didn't appear to be listening intently. His hands idly traced the planes and features of her face. "Hmmm?" he asked softly.

"Do you think we can, um…" she hesitated, feeling incredibly awkward. Did all couples have this conversation at some point? "Go slowly? I've…never done this before, obviously—"

Jack laughed quietly, the vibration of the shudders shaking her own body. " _Jean_ -nie, if I've been waiting this long for something, it doesn't mean that I want to get it over with quickly."

She nodded, feeling her mouth go dry. They'd silently planned this for months; never speaking a word aloud but somehow reaching a mutual understanding nonetheless. Jeannie had imagined, dreamed, and hoped for this moment for far too long. They were finally alone, without having to worry about her parents or time restraints. The notion both thrilled and petrified her.

"Come on," Jack urged. He straightened up, encircling her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist in a piggyback. Jeannie giggled and kissed the back of his neck, holding tightly onto him. It probably looked ridiculous, but luckily there was no one around to witness it. She was glad he was supporting her—she didn't know if she would be able to walk on her own.

They didn't break apart for even a second once he reached her room. Even though there was no one else in the house, Jack still closed the door behind them before letting Jeannie fall down on the bed. She grabbed his hands and pulled him as close as she possibly could, not wanting to let him go.

"I thought you wanted things to be _slow_ ," he teased, but his hands were shaking. She could feel the fast pounding of his heart against her chest. It comforted her to know that Jack was just as nervous as she was, even if he wasn't outwardly showing it.

"Shut up," Jeannie mumbled. It was the only response she could think of, since the rest of her brain appeared to have switched off.

As their breathing grew more labored, their kisses grew more forceful and their touches rougher. Jeannie wrapped her legs around his torso, knowing he would take it as a signal that she wanted to go faster. Jack reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head in one swift movement, impatiently tossing it over the edge of the bed.

"I love you," she said passionately as her hands struggled with the belt on his jeans.

She didn't expect a response, but surprisingly he offered one. Jack snatched up her hands, preventing any further movement. He waited until she made direct eye contact before speaking. "I know, tiger."

Her heart melted, and she could only nod. "Thank you, Jack."

"Anytime," he said simply, and then effectively silenced her by bringing their mouths together again.

They were both fueled by desperate need now, hands scrabbling at clothes and involuntary groans slipping out of their mouths. Jack was somehow both gentle and rough; restrained and free. "Contradictory," Jeannie mumbled against his bare torso while she kissed the scars that crisscrossed his body; reminders of his past that could never be erased.

Jack brushed his fingers against her chin, sending shivers down her neck and into her spine, pulling her head up to face him. His brown eyes were swirling with something fierce that she'd never seen before on anyone. "You can't back out on me now, _Jean_ -nie," he said.

"I won't," she assured him, emphasizing the words as much as she could.

He stared at her for another moment, searching for truth. When he appeared satisfied, he grinned. " _Look at me_."

* * *

_He wouldn't be as beautiful without the scars_ , was all she could think.

Jeannie didn't realize she'd fallen asleep until she lazily opened her eyes, with the sensation that she'd achieved ultimate bliss. Nothing could be more wonderful than what she was feeling. Her heart felt like it was about to burst. Had anyone ever _been_ this happy?

She felt silly now for resisting him all those times. She'd been delusional.

But now…

There were no words to accurately describe how Jeannie felt. She replayed the events of that afternoon almost reverently, a huge smile on her face. Her limbs ached dully, but the pain was nothing. She could deal with physical pain. It all paled in comparison, really.

God, she sounded like such an overdramatic, lovesick fool. But it was true. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she understood what compelled people to stay with each other for their entire lives. She knew she could happily spend the next eighty years with Jack and she would never tire of him.

Jeannie turned her head to see him. To her mild surprise, he'd fallen asleep as well. She'd had him pegged as the type of person who would leave right after any type of intimate encounter; but there he was, seemingly fast asleep. She reached out a hand and brushed the curls out of his eyes. It occurred to her that he probably didn't get much sleep at all, what with his job and his tendency to roam the streets at night.

His grip loosened around her and he opened his eye, not looking at all surprised to see her gawking. "Awake already?" he asked groggily. "Have you just been staring at me?"

"No," she lied. "I was thinking."

"About what, hmmm?" Jack propped himself up on one elbow and regarded her with puppy dog eyes. He appeared to be in a playful mood.

"How horrible you were," she teased. "It was so bad, I fell asleep."

"Because you have _so_ much to compare it to," he teased, hitting her with a pillow. "You look more than a little bit drunk, so I'm assuming it was at least acceptable."

"You keep on thinking that," Jeannie smiled, acting nonchalant, when in reality it had been the best birthday present ever. She imagined her parents' dismayed faces, but that all seemed absurd now. She was no longer afraid of their reactions. They probably suspected what would happen when they left Jeannie alone, anyway. At least her mother would.

"Are you hungry?" Jack asked after a long, comfortable silence.

Jeannie nodded. The shadows cast over the floor were growing longer and the sky outside was tinged with various hues of pink and red, so it must be early evening. Just eight hours ago she'd been bent over her desk, frantically reading her sociology textbook. Funny, how so much could change in so little time.

Jack untangled himself from the covers and pulled his clothes back on, throwing Jeannie's over at her. "I think we have pizza in the fridge," she said. "Mom left a bunch of food for me."

Jack left in search of food, while Jeannie slowly followed after him. Her legs were shaky and more than a bit sore, as if she'd been on a ship for weeks and had just stepped back onto land.

On the way downstairs she passed a mirror and automatically paused to study her reflection. She wondered if anyone could notice just by looking that she was a different person from who she'd been before. Was there a new gleam in her eye, did her face look slightly different; something to reflect the emotional change inside her?

But aside from her face being flushed and her lips looking swollen, she didn't appear altered in any way. Perhaps she was just imagining things.

In the kitchen, Jack was happily eating the promised pizza. Reaching out an arm, he drew her close to him. She curled up and rested her cheek against his shoulder, breathing in his scent. "Are you staying here all weekend?" she asked.

"I'm staying until you throw me out. After that, I'll just sneak back in again," he promised, chuckling. "Which do you think is better, _Jean_ -nie—my filthy apartment or your house?"

The endless promises of a long, glorious weekend stretched out before her and she sighed contentedly. It would be easy enough to study once she got back to school. Today, the here and now, was much more important than a half-formed exam lurking on the horizon.

* * *

Everything was so very perfect.

Jeannie spent the entire weekend lost in an infatuated stupor, barely able to tear herself away from Jack. This new, strange facet of their relationship would take some time for her to get used to. All of the new emotions were still so wonderful and undamaged; she didn't want to explore uncharted territory so fast that she ended up destroying it.

They spent hours lying in her bed, talking about everything and nothing. Jeannie had never felt so physically and emotionally close with someone else; it was exhausting yet exhilarating. She told him about the strange dream she had; he told her about a recurring "nightmare" where he was forced to babysit a group of small children for a day. When their voices grew hoarse and their energy spent, they would lie quietly, limbs tangled with limbs, not wanting to move.

On the last night after dinner, Jack playfully pushed Jeannie onto the bed, straddling her so she couldn't escape. "What time are your parents coming home?"

"Probably around seven or eight," she murmured, reaching up to kiss him. "We still have a couple of hours."

"Speaking of limited time, I'm not going to be in town next week, love," he told her. "I, ah, have a job I need to do in Blüdhaven."

"What kind of job?"

"I just have to keep an _eye_ on a few people; follow them around town and see what they're doing. One of the guys at work offered it to me. It's good pay, tiger," he said, seeing she was about to protest. "It just means sometimes I might be gone for two or three weeks at a time."

"Is it…dangerous?" Jeannie asked.

He raised his eyebrows. "Of course it is, _Jean_ -nie, but you know how good I am at escaping situations I need to get away from. I'll be fine."

She nodded, but her chest seemed to tighten. Right now, she didn't want to be away from him for two minutes, let alone two weeks. What if something came up and he was gone for months on end? "Just come back as soon as possible," she mumbled. "I—I can't stand to be away from you for a long time."

There—she'd said it. A phrase that was heard in bad romance novels, movies, and TV shows the world over. Even though it was the truth, it sounded unrealistic and silly coming from her mouth.

Jack, however, didn't hesitate for a second. "Then marry me," he said at once, as if he was merely suggesting she go to the store and get some food.

"I—sorry, I thought you asked me to marry you." Jeannie wondered if she'd heard him right.

But his eyes were wide and earnest. "I'm serious, Jeannie. God, it would be a perfect solution." He nodded to himself, like he was working out the details in his head. "Listen—if you were my wife, they'd probably let you come with me! If I find a job somewhere else we don't even need to _live_ in Gotham! That way I won't have to travel halfway across the city to see you."

Alarmed, Jeannie thought of feeling his forehead to see if he had a fever. "Jack, are you—" she began, but he placed a finger on her lips.

"I should have thought of this _before_ …Fuck, I don't even have a _ring_ —" Abruptly, he leapt backwards off the bed and pulled her to her feet. Before Jeannie could say anything, he knelt down on one knee.

"You know by now that I wouldn't have stayed for so long if I didn't _…love_ you. You're the only person I can trust in this entire goddamned world. You're the only person who can keep up with me, and you're the only person I can see myself tolerating for the rest of my life. So…Jennifer Louise Kerr, marry me. Please."

It was too much to take in. Jeannie had only briefly thought about marrying Jack, and even that was sometime in the distant future, when she would be out of university and have a steady job.

It wasn't a question of whether she loved him; she would marry him in a heartbeat if she could. It was everyone _else's_ reaction—her parents would be horrified. Having sex was one thing; getting married was something entirely different.

But wasn't a marriage supposed to be between two people? Not two people and their families?

What was the point in waiting, if you only lived once?

Jeannie was supposed to be a risk-taker. If she said yes, she was taking the biggest risk of her life. If she said no, she would probably regret the decision forever.

She took a deep breath and tentatively smiled. "Yes, Jack," she whispered. "I will."


	26. May 1999: Engaged

Had she done the right thing?

Long after Jack left, with a promise that he would come back to Gotham as soon as possible, Jeannie stared at the ceiling, unable to move. Her head was spinning with the swiftness of it all. Two days ago she'd been a virgin, with no plans to get married whatsoever. Now…everything was different.

She was only nineteen, but knew that lots of people got married at her age. Jeannie wasn't entirely sure how many of them ended up staying together, but there had to be at least a small percentage, right?

Her parents came home to find her pacing the living room nervously. "How was your weekend, sweetheart?" Mrs. Kerr asked rather suspiciously, watching her daughter wear a hole in the carpet.

"Fine," Jeannie said shortly. "It was great, in fact."

"Do anything special?" her mother continued.

It was meant to be a simple, absent-minded question, but the words were tumbling out of Jeannie's mouth before she could stop them. "I'm engaged."

Mrs. Kerr stopped midway up the stairs and stared incredulously at Jeannie. "What are you talking about?"

"Is this some sort of joke?" Mr. Kerr asked sternly. "If it is, it's not very funny."

Jeannie stared fixedly at her feet, hoping she could somehow get it over with quickly. "Jack proposed earlier today, and…I said yes."

There was a very pregnant silence, during which her parents wore identical expressions of horror. "You said yes," Mr. Kerr repeated slowly. "Jeannie, you're _nineteen years old._ "

"I know how old I am, thanks," she said crossly. "I also know that I love Jack and that's not going to change. There's no point in waiting for another ten years to realize we're right for each other. Would you rather we live together and never marry?"

Her father appeared to be taking extreme measures to hold back his anger. When he finally managed to speak his voice was strangled. "Where do you plan to _live_?"

"Jack's apartment, I guess," Jeannie replied.

Mr. Kerr's jaw dropped. "You can't be serious! I will not let my daughter live in the Narrows getting into who-knows-what—"

"It's not like we'll live there forever!" she exclaimed. "As soon as Jack gets a better job or I finish university we'll move to a better place."

"Do you even realize what this _means_?" Mr. Kerr suddenly yelled, losing all control of his temper. "You shouldn't even be _thinking_ about marriage until you're at least twenty-five…it's a huge commitment…you have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

Jeannie's face flushed in chagrin. "I have a better idea than _you_ ," she said in the most contemptuous voice she could muster. "I'm nineteen, _Father._ I could move out tomorrow if I wanted."

"Sweetie—" Mrs. Kerr began, reaching out an arm toward her, but Jeannie wrestled free. "I'm getting married, and there's nothing you can do about it," she announced, and stalked away.

When she was safely inside her bedroom, she slumped against the door and stared up at the ceiling with an enormous sigh.

Well, at least _that_ part was over with.

* * *

Over the next days, Jeannie would often hear her parents talking quietly behind closed doors in worried voices. Her name often came up, followed by Jack's and "not a good idea." She didn't eavesdrop on those conversations—she wasn't sure she wanted to hear what they were saying.

Mr. and Mrs. Kerr weren't the only ones with reservations. Liam, Rebecca and Harriet all called to try and talk Jeannie out of it. She listened patiently to them, but always said that it was her decision and she would take their arguments into account (even though she wasn't planning to).

At school, Emily tried half-heartedly to dissuade her, but she knew well enough that when Jeannie made up her mind about something, the decision was forever. Besides, she already had enough on her plate without thinking of ways to convince her friend that she shouldn't get married.

It wasn't until four days had passed that Jeannie got the final verdict. She was in her room writing an essay when Mrs. Kerr knocked on the door. "May I come in?" she asked softly, a sure sign she was trying to be as harmless as possible so Jeannie wouldn't have an excuse to start a fight.

"Yes," she answered, closing her books and turning her chair around to face the door.

Her mother walked in and sat down on the edge of Jeannie's bed, adjusting her glasses and looking everywhere but at her daughter. "I'd like to tell you a story, if you don't mind."

"Here we go," Jeannie muttered. Mrs. Kerr was in full psychiatrist mode.

"I met your father when I was nineteen—the same age as you are now. We got married only three years later. We've beaten the odds—we're still together and we have four children.

"My mother, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky. She married my father at twenty and had me a year later. It didn't take long for her to realize that her husband, far from being the gentleman he initially appeared to be, was abusive and misogynistic. It took her almost four years to leave him, but by then, the emotional scarring was rooted too deeply. She committed suicide when I was ten."

Jeannie had never known this about her grandparents, and was temporarily stunned. She'd never met her maternal grandfather, and all she had known about her grandmother was that she'd died before she was born. The newfound realization that she was descended from such a foul man disgusted her, and she was suddenly glad she'd never met her grandfather.

"The moral of the story is that you might not truly know the people you get involved with until it's too late," Mrs. Kerr said. "I understand you've known Jack for five years, but people change. You either get lucky or you don't. "

"What's your point, Mom?"

"I just want you to be one hundred percent sure that Jack is the right person for you. It's not that I don't trust your judgment, Jeannie. It's that maybe you shouldn't trust your own judgment." For the first time, her mother looked her in the eye. She seemed completely sincere.

"I do trust my judgment, and I trust Jack," Jeannie said firmly. "I appreciate your concern, Mom, but I _am_ nineteen."

Mrs. Kerr nodded. "I just want you to be sure. Listen, sweetie, you don't have to give me the details…but is there a different reason why this happened so quickly? Did you recently find something out, for example?"

The too-gentle way she was talking and the apprehensive look in her eyes said it all. Jeannie shook her head immediately. "No, Mom. I'm not pregnant."

Her mother's relief was noticeable, though she tried her best to hide it. "That's all I wanted to know."

"So you're actually letting me do this?" Jeannie asked. "I thought Dad was going to disown me."

Mrs. Kerr gave a smile, albeit strained. "Like you said, you're a legal adult; we can't stop you. But we have come up with a compromise."

Jeannie watched her warily. It was probably something ridiculous; like they had to stay engaged for five years.

"We will pay for the honeymoon and half of the wedding, but all expenses after that are up to you. We will not contribute any money to a house or mortgage. In short, all financial matters after the wedding are entirely yours and you won't be able to come to us for help, even if living on the street is your only other option. In addition, you and Jack must visit us at least once a week for the first year of the marriage, and you have to finish university." Mrs. Kerr looked pleased with herself, like she'd delivered the winning blow in a fight.

Jeannie paused. At first glance, it seemed fair enough, but leaving them on their own financially? Would her parents really allow her to end up homeless? But then she realized that it was meant to intimidate her. They thought she would refuse the deal and break off the engagement if part of her future was uncertain.

But her parents had underestimated her. They thought she would care about having money more than having Jack. It was a test as much as it was a question. If she ended up changing her mind, it would come as proof that she wasn't serious about the marriage.

But all things considered, it was a better compromise than Jeannie had expected.

* * *

Paolo hated his job.

He was thirty years old, poor, and single. He should have a decent occupation by now or at least a girlfriend like the rest of his brothers, but no—he was still dirt poor, living in the worst part of the city and working for meager pay in a shady bar. He cleaned tables at a popular meeting place for the most infamous of Gotham's underground, which was a disgusting job in itself. He'd seen all measure of things—blood, alcohol, water, and various other liquids he tried not to think about.

He'd accepted long ago that this was his fate and there was no way he could pull himself out of the deep hole he'd fallen into years ago. So he settled for doing his work (though it could hardly be called that) and staying out of trouble.

It was a widely known fact that the bar attracted all sorts of men from the mob. In Paolo's case, it was best to keep his head down and ignore them. He was short and not muscular in the least—a perfect target if one of the men was angry. Luckily, he hadn't been beleaguered yet.

On this particular muggy spring night, he was bent over the remains of what was once a table, scrubbing a disgusting green stain off the faded wood, when he heard the loud, formidable voice of Yuri Dimitrov, one of the highest-ranking mobsters. What was he doing here?

Paolo turned around and frowned in surprise when he saw Dimitrov in earnest conversation with Joseph Kerr, one of the bouncers/guards. Despite being very young, Joseph had proven himself numerous times to be an excellent guard. With his tall, daunting figure and Glasgow grin, he had the power to intimidate and threaten anyone who proved to be an unwanted visitor—usually enemies of the mob. Paolo exchanged a few words with him from time to time, but had no idea what the boy's background was or where he came from. With those scars, he must have had a pretty rough life.

But why would Dimitrov want to talk to him? Although he knew he was likely to be killed if he was caught eavesdropping, Paolo inched several feet closer so he could better hear their conversation.

"…not going to be your, uh, _hitman_ ," Joseph said quietly. Paolo noticed that his face was flushed and he seemed even more fidgety than usual.

"Then why did you agree to do what I asked?" Dimitrov replied. His thick Russian accent juxtaposed with Joseph's American, slightly nasal voice.

"Because it was on my own terms," Joseph answered, even more quietly. "I don't work for anyone."

Dimitrov's eyebrows raised. "So you'll only do these… _jobs_ if you feel like it?"

"Very good," Joseph said scornfully. " _Now_ you understand."

Paolo was astonished; this boy, this _nobody_ , was talking to the head of the mob like he was insignificant! Didn't he realize he could be killed in a second if he disrespected Dimitrov?

"Just get it over with as quickly as possible," Dimitrov ordered. "Come back to Gotham right afterwards. Carmine wants to see how efficient you can be."

"And if I don't do the job right?" Joseph asked, licking his lips as he spoke.

"Let's just say your girlfriend will be the worse for wear," said Dimitrov. Joseph stiffened, and he laughed, pleased he had the upper hand again. "What, you didn't think we weren't keeping tabs on you? Falcone likes to make sure he can trust his employees."

"Leave her out of this, or _you_ will be the worse for wear," Joseph hissed. Paolo shuddered, relieved he wasn't Dimitrov. He suddenly understood exactly why so many people were afraid of the boy—he'd never heard menace like that in anyone's voice.

The mobster, however, was used to threats. He didn't seem particularly affected by Joseph's anger, merely shrugging and saying, "The pay is excellent as well. You want to buy a nice ring for your girl? No problem. If you do your job right, Falcone will take care of the cost."

"What makes you think I need the money?" Joseph took a step closer to Dimitrov. Although both were tall, Joseph easily towered over the other man.

Dimitrov smirked. "I _said_ we were keeping tabs on you. You thought you had fooled us by changing your name. We are not that stupid, _Jack Napier_."

Paolo's eyebrows shot up. Joseph Kerr was Jack Napier, the son of Paul Napier? Paul had been killed before Paolo moved to Gotham, but his name was still notorious in the Narrows.

Joseph—Jack—nodded slowly, as if Dimitrov's comment had pleased him. "Do my, ah… _connections_ mean I'm entitled to more benefits? After all, my father was one of the mob's most famous members."

"Perhaps," Dimitrov said. "But for now, Falcone wants to see how you do with this task. He thinks you might prove useful to us."

Jack suddenly leaned in close to Dimitrov, so close their noses were almost touching. His scars twisted bizarrely upward as he spat, "I am not your _puppet._ I don't care if Falcone likes how I do the job or not. I've wanted to kill Carla Viti for a long time. Tell your boss he owes me an extra thousand if I get rid of the body."

With that, he straightened up and left the bar, leaving his unnerving presence behind.


	27. June 1999: Interval

**One Month Later**

**June 1999**

Jeannie sat motionlessly at her desk in psychology class, staring at a spot on the board behind the professor and feeling her jaw slack. It was the third week of June, with only two more to go until exams. Nobody, least of all young, hot-blooded students, wanted to be trapped inside a stuffy, airless room listening to a dull old man drone about the effects of antidepressants on the brain. With the way she was feeling, Jeannie was sure _she_ would need antidepressants just to get through the next hour.

It wasn't only the boring subject matter that was distracting her; it was the fact that Jack had been gone for nearly a month. She texted him at least once a day, but typically got a one-word response back. She wondered, like any paranoid fiancée, if he was staying out of town to purposely avoid her.

Absent-mindedly, Jeannie twisted her engagement ring around her finger. The enormous diamond on it caught in the sunlight streaming from the window behind her, and she sighed, holding her hand out to examine it. Jack had sent it the week before, and although it was an absolutely gorgeous ring—it looked like something from Tiffany's—she was a) annoyed that he hadn't even waited to give it to her in person, and b) slightly worried where he'd gotten it from. Had he stolen it? She'd texted him that very question, and his only response had been "No". Still, it was wise to take whatever Jack said with a grain of salt.

Jeannie felt self-conscious wearing the ring—she wasn't used to wearing jewelry and felt awkward in public where everyone stared at her—but she kept it on out of a sense of duty. In some ways, it made her feel closer to Jack when he was absent. Her father kept making snide remarks that it was a "blood diamond", but Jeannie tried to ignore his grumbling.

It was a tiny piece of jewelry, but sometimes she felt as if it weighed a million pounds. She imagined that the accusing gazes of everyone who looked at her were sucked up into the diamond until it weighed more than her hand did. Especially total strangers, whose eyes immediately dropped to her stomach to see if she was pregnant. What other reason would a teenager have for getting married?

Or maybe everything was just in her imagination and people weren't as silently accusing as she imagined them to be. The ones that understood knew what it was like to be in love.

"Hey!" Jeannie felt a sharp poke on her arm and she frowned at Emily, who was sitting beside her. "Weren't you listening?"

"No," she admitted, rubbing the place that was sure to become a bruise. "What did he say?"

"We're supposed to get into small groups and talk to a person who's had a mental health problem," explained Emily. "It's our final project."

Jeannie groaned. "Well, this isn't short notice at all."

"It's fine. We can probably talk to my brother," Emily said. "He needs some company, what with my parents being out of town and all."

"Are you sure that's all right?" Jeannie asked. "I don't think the professor meant interviewing someone who is criminally insane."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Don't be such a wimp, Jeannie. We'll be lucky to get a coherent answer out of him anyway."

"Groups of three to five, please!" the professor called out. "No partners!"

"Who else should we ask?" Jeannie said. "Anyone who's crazy enough to actually agree to this?"

"How about him?" Emily asked. She pointed at a lone figure sitting three rows ahead of them.

Jeannie shrugged. "I don't really care. I think his name is Jonathan Crane."

The boy turned around at the sound of his name. He had slicked-back, oily dark hair and startlingly blue eyes hidden behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. His expression wasn't friendly.

"Want to be in our group?" Emily called. "We need one more person."

Crane narrowed his eyes, as if judging their worth, then slowly got up and walked towards them. "Will you actually do part of the work?" he asked in a flat tone.

Jeannie and Emily exchanged glances. " _Someone's_ got a bit of an attitude problem," Emily murmured before saying loudly, "We promise. I have an idea about who we can talk to, anyway."

"Who?" Crane said. He took a seat two desks away from Jeannie, as if she was a diseased person he didn't want to get too close to.

"My brother is a patient at Arkham," Emily said matter-of-factly. "He's been diagnosed with extreme antisocial personality disorder and obsessive-compulsive tendencies. If we can manage to decipher what he's saying, then we're good to go."

Jeannie thought she saw a momentary flicker of interest in Crane's eyes before it was quickly extinguished. "When would we speak to him?"

"After school today, if you want," Emily said. "It'll only take an hour or so."

"I wasn't aware Arkham allowed visitors," Crane replied. "Are you sure we will be safe?"

"I apologize if you didn't know this, but we live in _Gotham City_ ," Emily said, her annoyance finally showing. "We'll be no more in danger than if we were to walk downtown."

Crane, on the other hand, seemed to be withdrawing into himself as his anger built. "I was simply asking a question," he said quietly.

"Well, there was no need to be so—"

"Guys, calm down," Jeannie interjected. "If worse comes to worst, my mother is a psychiatrist. She'll definitely be able to refer us to some of her patients."

Crane turned his hawk-like gaze onto her for the first time. Jeannie felt uncomfortable, like she was being scrutinized. His eyes lingered unashamedly on her left hand. "Engaged?" he asked.

Jeannie's first instinct would have been to call the question "rude", but that wasn't quite the right word. It was more…cold; devoid of emotion. Crane's interest was almost clinical, like he was looking for pieces of information to use against her. Unconsciously, she covered her ring with her other hand. "Yes," she said.

"To whom?" he inquired.

"His name is Jack Napier," Emily answered for her. Her tone indicated finality. "Is there a particular reason you're so interested?"

Crane, correctly guessing the hostility, smirked, but there was no real emotion to it—it was just an empty gesture. Jeannie suddenly felt extremely unsettled. It was hard to believe there was something living under those eyes. "The name does sound familiar."

Both girls stared at him, waiting for an explanation. When he offered none, Jeannie secretly pulled out her cellphone and texted Jack:

_Jeannie 11:29am: Do you know a Jonathan Crane?_

She didn't expect to receive an answer anytime soon, and was just starting to put the phone away when a new message showed up on the screen:

_Jack 11:32am: He lived near us in Gotham Acres._

Jeannie grimaced. How did a poor boy (and he had to have been poor if he lived in that neighborhood) manage to attend Gotham University? Had he won a scholarship? She didn't recall seeing him in high school.

"That is certainly an… _expensive_ ring," Crane continued. He was making it clear he knew something was not quite right.

Jeannie plastered on her best fake smile and concentrated on not punching him. "It is, isn't it?" she asked brightly.

Emily's eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, sensing an oncoming fight. In a friendly fashion, she cleared her throat and announced in a falsely cheerful voice, "Let's start this assignment, shall we?"

Jeannie eventually tore her gaze off Crane, seething with anger. She had never disliked a person this intensely so soon after meeting them.

From the disgusted look on his face, it appeared he felt the same towards her.

This was going to be a _fun_ project.

* * *

Jack had always held a fascination with death.

When he was young, he would experiment with stepping on ants. He would watch their tiny, squashed bodies writhe on the ground, clinging onto the last grasp of their pathetic lives before finally becoming still. Others were killed right away; death happened in the blink of an eye. One second they were alive, and the next…they ceased to exist.

It had been indescribably satisfying to watch his father die. Jack had drawn it out for as long as he could, watching Paul's body drain of blood. When his heartbeat had finally stopped, he'd stood up and surveyed the now-streaked with crimson room before spitting on his father's body and leaving.

Some others weren't so easy. Jack remembered another incident when he was living in Toronto; the man he was trying to kill had almost taken him down as well. He wasn't proud of that; it was one of his first attempts.

"How many people have you killed?" Jeannie once asked him. Jack had responded with, "None of the people I kill are actually _alive_ ," which was completely true. He didn't count them as human beings.

She'd glared at him and he'd laughed. Poor little tiger…she was far too compassionate for her own good. Surprisingly, he found that endearing about her. Actually, he found a lot of things endearing about her that would have pissed him off in anyone else.

Their relationship was a kind of blissful release for him. She was entertaining, funny, and quick-witted. Jack got bored of people easily, but he was yet to grow tired of _her._ It used to bother him, but now he was starting to accept it. Sometimes it was still infuriating that she could control him when he couldn't even control himself. But she was always his _Jean_ -nie. He'd wanted her from the very beginning.

Jack hadn't been lying when he'd said he loved her. It had been a while since he could remember loving anyone; his mother was the only other person he could remember, but he hadn't been dependent on her like he was with Jeannie. The feelings were completely different.

 _Fuck_ , he missed her. It had been almost a month since he'd left Gotham and he'd spent the past three weeks sleeping in alleyways and abandoned buildings. He was sure he looked like absolute shit, but that was a good thing—nobody gave him a second glance. There were too many poor people here.

Blüdhaven was often referred to as Gotham's younger sister, only shoddier and more dangerous. At least in Gotham, occasional rays of sunlight managed to shine between the skyscrapers. Here, there was no end to the rows upon rows of slums that wouldn't look out of place in a third-world country.

Jack had been in the city for three weeks and there was still no sign of Carla Viti. Dimitrov had provided him with her address, but the house had remained empty. It wasn't surprising, given that she still had many connections in the mob. Someone must have tipped her off.

She had been sentenced to jail for thirty years, but was released early for "good behavior." Everyone knew this was an obvious lie, but even Blackgate was corrupt. In fact, Jack firmly believed that his father hadn't escaped from prison on his own. That was just the way Gotham was.

While incarcerated, Carla provided valuable information about the mob and its underground workings to the staff, pretending she was a double agent. As soon as the classified information was leaked out, she was slated for death. Even though Jack despised the mob and all it stood for, he was more than happy to be the one to finally kill her. The huge sum of money he was receiving didn't hurt either, though he'd spent most of it on Jeannie's ring. If he really impressed Falcone, then he could get a couple more thousand and buy the actual wedding rings.

A shrill ring sounded from his pocket and he swore under his breath. It was probably Dimitrov calling him for an update. Jack wished he hadn't given his number to him. It was fucking annoying having to answer his questions all the time.

But no, it was a text from Jeannie. _Do you know a Jonathan Crane?_

Jack couldn't help but grin at the name. Yes, he did know Crane.

He sent her a message back saying _He lived near us in Gotham Acres,_ but that was only a part of the story.

When Jack was ten, a new family moved in across the street. He hadn't cared much at the time—he didn't pay attention to the neighbors—but one day he'd been picking up the remains of Paul's beer bottles from the front yard when he saw a scrawny boy, even skinnier than himself, helping an old lady out of a car. As Jack watched, the boy dropped a glass figurine and it shattered into a million pieces on the ground. The old lady—Jack assumed she was his grandmother—lifted up her cane and whacked the boy over the head. He'd fallen down into the glass pieces, where she continued smacking him with the cane.

Jack had stopped momentarily and started laughing. There was something _hilarious_ about the entire situation. The old lady's grim and determined expression suggested that it wasn't a rare occurrence.

The boy, however, looked up and saw Jack's face contorted with laughter. His eyes glazed over and he'd fixed him with the coldest stare Jack had ever seen. From then on, there had been a strong animosity on Crane's side. Jack couldn't care less about him, but Crane…Crane _despised_ him. He'd known Jack was abused as well by his father, oh yes—but he just watched the beatings with a satisfied expression, like he was getting what he deserved for laughing.

The two boys had seen each other many times and occasionally even sported matching bruises. One might think that they would bond over their shared childhoods (or lack thereof), but neither of them had ever said a word to the other. Jack didn't know what school Crane went to other than that it certainly wasn't his. The only reason he even knew the boy's name was because he'd once heard his grandmother yelling it down the street. When Jack had moved to the Narrows, he'd never seen nor heard of Crane again.

So how had Jeannie come across him? Even though he knew it was ridiculous, Jack felt a stab of jealousy. Wherever she was, Crane was with her, while _he_ was stuck in a filthy alley waiting for an opportunity that would probably never arrive, half-starving.

Then he cursed himself for becoming so fixated with her. What gave her the right to wield any sort of power over him? Jack Napier answered to nobody but himself.

But he knew it was too late. There was no going back now, no way to go back in time and erase their first meeting. He would have to live with the idea that it was impossible to live without her.

A movement from the house caught his eye, and he was immediately on guard, all thoughts of Jeannie gone from his mind. He was his _real_ self, the self he had been for nine years before _she_ got in the way.

One of the blinds on the window fluttered. Jack knew Carla was finally home.

He waited for five minutes to make sure she'd disappeared before slowly easing the windowsill open with his foot. The opening was narrow, but it was lucky he was so skinny. He just managed to slip inside before a gust of wind blew it shut.

Jack reached into his pocket and curled his hand around the gun Dimitrov had given him; the other stroked the blade of his knife. Falcone's orders were to get it over with as quickly as possible, but Jack hadn't waited for three weeks to finish it in a second. He wanted it to take _time_.

When his eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings, he took a step forward, listening for any sort of noise. There could be any number of people here, though it was unlikely. Carla would want to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Jack crept into the hallway, knife in hand. There was only one other door in the hallway, this one slightly ajar. He slowly made his way over, attentively looking for any hidden cameras.

When he got to the door, he pushed it open as quietly as he could. He grinned widely when he saw Carla herself asleep on a bed. _Bingo._

She didn't stir as he slunk toward her, adrenaline pounding in his veins. It was a wonderful rush, knowing he yielded the power of life or death in his hands. One slash and her life would be over, just like that.

Jack readjusted his grip on the knife and bent over her, wondering where the best place to start was. The wrists, perhaps? That was certainly cause a lot of blood. The neck or head would be too quick…hmmm…

While he pondered, her eyelids fluttered, as if she sensed someone was present. At first she closed them again, but when she realized who it was they flew open fully and she jerked upright. "No—" she screamed; but the noise was stifled by a loud bang as Jack shot her in the leg to prevent her escaping.

He watched with amusement as she writhed on the bed, blood rapidly staining the dusty sheets. "Carmine," was all she could choke out, clutching at her wounded leg.

"Yes," Jack said emotionlessly. "It _is_ quite a shame that your own brother would order your death. But I thought you would know by now that family ties don't, ah, _bind_ as tightly as they used to." Smirking at her anguished expression, he raised the knife and ignoring her strangled protests, plunged the knife into her chest.


	28. August 1999: Preparation

**Two Months Later**

**August 1999**

She'd only just started making wedding plans and already they were fighting.

"Does the date really matter?" Jack asked. "Let's do it tomorrow."

Jeannie sighed exasperatedly. "Please be realistic. My parents want my entire extended family plus Susan's extended family there—"

"Tiger, I don't even want your _parents_ there," Jack said. He slammed his coffee cup down on the table. "Just make it the two of us. That's all we need."

Jeannie ran her hand through her hair in agitation. It was only late summer, but already the engagement was stretching on longer than she'd hoped. She was still warring with her parents over the finer details. It didn't help that Jack was often gone for days at a time, usually coming back sporting a fresh batch of cuts and bruises. He claimed he'd just fallen or tripped, but she knew he wasn't clumsy in the least. She knew he was doing more than just "keeping an eye" on people.

"How about we make it sometime in November?" Jeannie asked desperately. "That will give me a few months to iron out the details, and school should be slowing down so I'll be able to afford taking two weeks off."

Jack shrugged. "Fine." It was obvious he was uncomfortable. Jeannie had suggested meeting at Starbucks, since it was a perfect middle point between the university and the bar, but Jack stuck out like a sore thumb in the store full of men in business suits and young adults with their laptops and expensive watches.

At least they were getting somewhere. Jeannie looked up at him, pen poised over her paper. "Pick a random day."

He looked at her disbelievingly. "Tomorrow—actually, I think we'll still have time today if you want—"

"November tenth it is," Jeannie said loudly, writing the date down. "Now, my parents said the honeymoon is taken care of." She felt Mr. and Mrs. Kerr cheated a bit on that one because they hadn't actually needed to pay anything at all: one of Mrs. Kerr's best friends needed someone to look after a beach house in northern California while they were on vacation. All her parents were paying for was the airfare, which Jeannie felt wasn't fair. But a house all to themselves for two weeks was better than staying in a musty hotel room in Las Vegas, which was what she'd been expecting. "So all I need to do now is make the guest list."

Jack was looking even more annoyed, so Jeannie scribbled down some names and read them aloud: "My parents, Liam, Susan, Rebecca, Harriet, their boyfriends, Emily and her parents, Miranda, Oliver, his mother—"

"Ollie boy is _not_ coming," Jack growled.

Jeannie glanced up at him, slightly hurt. "Yes, he is. He was once my best friend and we promised to attend each other's weddings."

"Well, he isn't attending yours."

"Excuse me? I have the right to invite who I want!" Jeannie said, affronted.

"I thought you wanted my _opinion_ ," snarled Jack. "What does it look like I'm _doing_?"

Jeannie dropped her pen and it clattered to the ground. "I'm inviting fourteen guests. _Fourteen._ Normal weddings have at least a hundred people, if not more."

"Where is it even happening?"

"I dunno, a church—"

"I am _not_ getting married in a church!"

"Fine!" Jeannie yelled. The people at the neighboring tables turned to stare at them. It wasn't what she'd had in mind when she pictured planning with Jack. "What _do_ you want, then?"

"There's an office registry around the corner—"

"I am _not_ getting married in an office!"

Two tables over, a gray-haired man hid behind his newspaper and whispered, "Aren't they a little young to be getting married?"

Jeannie glared furiously at him until he looked away. "What do you want me to do about it, Jack? My parents are paying for half of the wedding but if I frustrate them enough they'll refuse."

"Maybe that's exactly what you should do," he hissed. "You need to stop running to them all the time. Gain some independence."

"Just because you had a bad relationship with _your_ parents doesn't mean you can dictate what _I_ can or can't do—"

"Fine, _Jean_ -nie. Do what you want. But don't go crying to your daddy when things don't go the way you want them to." Jack scraped his chair back and left the store without waiting for her reaction.

Jeannie crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it at the trashcan. It missed by a wide margin and bounced onto the floor.

She would wait a few hours before following him. If there was one thing she knew about Jack, it was never to talk to him when he was angry.

* * *

Paolo was sweeping up the remains of a wild night, humming to himself and enjoying the relative quietness of the bar, when the front door opened and a girl cautiously stepped in. He turned to her in surprise.

It was evident she didn't belong there. She was young, maybe late teens or early twenties, blonde and blue-eyed. For a split second, Paolo wondered if she was a tourist who had gotten lost and ended up in the Narrows. He put down his broom and walked over to her.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"I'm looking for Joseph Kerr," she replied. "Does he work here?"

Paolo hesitated. "You mean Jack Napier? He does, but he probably won't be for much longer."

Her eyes widened slightly. "What do you mean?"

"He might be taking a job at a chemical factory not far from here," Paolo answered. "If you don't mind me asking, miss, who are you?"

The girl looked like she was debating whether or not to tell him the truth before eventually whispering, "I'm his fiancée."

 _Her?_ This was the girl Dimitrov had been talking about?

Paolo wondered what a hardened, rough boy like Napier saw in a girl like her. She'd obviously led a comfortable life, worlds away from what he'd experienced. She was no model, either. Her face was too soft to be striking; her features too sharp to be beautiful. She was too tall to be cute but too short to be statuesque. Her eyes didn't hold any trace of confidence, either—she looked as if she was about to turn and bolt any second.

In short, she seemed to be nothing extraordinary. But Paolo decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume there was some invisible fire inside her that only Jack saw. "Do you want me to give you the address of the factory?"

She shook her head. "Never mind."

As she turned to leave, Paolo called out, "Be careful, miss!"

"I think it's too late for that," she muttered, and disappeared.

Paolo wondered how much she knew about Jack's job. Had he told her that he was a hitman (for lack of a better word) for the mob, or did she think he was simply visiting out of town whenever he disappeared?

Well, at any rate, it was good he hadn't told her that Carmine Falcone was getting Jack the factory job. He'd passed the mob's tests so far, but there was no telling what would happen if he ever failed.


	29. November 1999: Anticipation

**Three Months Later**

**November 1999**

Jeannie couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so terrified. She wanted to hide under her bed and block out all noise until the next day. Everyone said the day before a wedding was scary, but no one had told her it would be _this_ scary.

Next to her, Jack looked solemn. This didn't help Jeannie's nervousness any. In fact, he'd barely spoken to her all day. She wondered if he suddenly had a problem with the plan.

After several heated arguments and much coercion, the two of them had come to a compromise. They would marry outside in a park near the river with a panoramic view of the city. It would be a small ceremony without any fanfare. Jeannie had originally decided to keep Jack happy and not invite Oliver, but apparently Miranda had told him and he'd insisted on coming. "At least they're staying in a hotel," Jeannie said. Jack growled under his breath in response.

There would be seventeen people at the wedding in total, including the officiant. Jeannie knew her parents wanted a much more traditional wedding, but it was too late to do anything about it now. She wanted to keep Jack happy, not her parents.

So far, things were tense but nothing had snapped yet. Liam, Susan, Harriet, Rebecca, and their boyfriends all arrived earlier that day. The Kerr house was bustling with activity and Jeannie wanted to sneak away from the attention. A very pregnant Susan was due to give birth next month and with the focus momentarily on her, it was easier for Jeannie to grab a few minutes of peace and quiet.

She leaned her head back against the wall and listened to the excited chatter downstairs. Her parents were excited about their third grandchild, but not surprisingly they were treating it like their first. Jeannie often forgot she had two nieces somewhere in Boston. They would be almost five years old now. Time sure flew by fast.

"Doesn't it seem like just yesterday that Harriet was pregnant?" Jeannie asked, nudging Jack on the shoulder.

He gave a noncommittal grunt in response. Bent over a page of indecipherable chemical equations, he looked as intent as any professor would. Jeannie always knew that Jack was a "hidden" intellectual, but she had to admit it was odd to see him solving chemistry problems so fast she barely had time to look at the numbers.

Even without a high school diploma, he'd gotten the job at the chemical factory a month ago. The "worrywart" part of Jeannie was secretly glad he was working at a safer place than a bar, but of course she wouldn't ever say it out loud in fear of sounding like her mother.

Jack often brought his work home with him and spent the evenings hunched over a paper trying to work out an equation. No matter how much he pretended it was a chore, Jeannie knew he enjoyed it. Jack was extremely intelligent, despite his dislike of organized education. In fact, _Jeannie_ didn't even know what he was doing and she was in university.

There was a loud laugh from downstairs, followed by an outbreak of chatter. They were probably talking about the many ways Jeannie's marriage could fail. Harriet had made no secret how she felt about the wedding.

"Jack?" Jeannie said hesitantly. "Can I ask you something?"

He glanced up at her, suddenly suspicious. "Going to break up with me, _Jean-_ nie?"

She shook her head. "I…I wanted to know if you were nervous. About tomorrow."

"No," he said right away. "Why would I be? Are _you_?"

"Kind of," she admitted. "I guess I'm just nervous about moving out of the house, starting a new life, stuff like that."

He continued giving her a blank look. Jeannie realized he couldn't understand her qualms in the least, since he'd never been attached to any one place or routine. "Never mind," she sighed heavily. "I'll get through it somehow."

"You better," he warned, a slight teasing tone to his voice before turning back to his books. Jeannie smiled and rested her chin on his shoulder. "For two weeks we'll have a whole house to our—" Her train of thought was cut off as the loud chime of the doorbell echoed through the house.

" _Oliver_!" she heard Mrs. Kerr exclaim. "You're early! We didn't expect you until tomorrow morning! Miranda, too! Oh, and—"

Jack gave her a dark look. "I think that's my cue to leave," he said.

"Wait," protested Jeannie. She curled her hand around his and tried to pull him off the bed. "At least say hello. Please?" Without waiting for an answer, she led Jack downstairs and to the front door where the crowd was gathered.

Oliver looked the same as he had at Jeannie's graduation a year and a half ago, if marginally more tired. Behind him was the identically dark-haired, olive-skinned Mrs. Hammet, whom Jeannie hadn't seen for at least six years. She didn't recognize the man standing next to her, but her eyes were only focused on Miranda. To her shock, she was carrying a small bundle in her arms.

"Mir—I—you were _pregnant_?" Jeannie asked in disbelief, unable to tear her eyes off the blue blanket.

Her friend nodded proudly, exchanging a secret smile with Oliver. "His name is Alexander and he's a month old."

Jeannie stared at the red, crinkled face. Alexander's hands were balled into fists and he flailed around in Miranda's arms as if he was about to start crying.

"He looks just like you," Jack said cheerfully. Jeannie shot him a warning glance—but luckily, Miranda and Oliver didn't catch the insult.

"I hope you don't mind I brought a few extra people along," Oliver said sheepishly. "This is my stepfather Gary and my half-sister, Julia." As he spoke, a little girl Jeannie hadn't previously noticed shyly poked her head around Mrs. Hammet. She had Oliver's dark hair, but Gary's hazel eyes.

"How old are you, honey?" Mrs. Kerr asked, bending down so she was at face level with the child. Julia lifted up three fingers.

"That's fine, Oliver," Jeannie said, although she was honestly annoyed by the fact there were suddenly three more guests. Jack's expression was smoothly emotionless, so she had no way of knowing what his opinion on the matter was.

"Why don't you stay for dinner, Jack?" Mr. Kerr offered. "You are the groom-to-be, after all." But Jack shook his head, muttering something about 'other arrangements.' Before Jeannie could squeeze his hand in a goodbye, he wove between Gary and Oliver and was out the door in an instant. While the newcomers were left staring wondering what to make of him, Miranda stepped forward and pushed the infant into Jeannie's arms.

"Guess what?" she exclaimed. "We want you to be Alex's godmother!"

Jeannie stared in shock at her childhood best friends, trying to process the information. Her? A _godmother_? She'd barely spoken to either of them in eighteen months. "Thanks," she stammered. "It's a real honor."

Alex stared up at her with enormous eyes, fixing her with a baby's unblinking gaze. Jeannie smiled at him, but he stayed grim. Miranda laughed. "Don't worry, he doesn't smile much," she explained, stroking her son's head. "The doctors say he'll become more cheerful as he grows up."

"Who's the godfather?" Rebecca asked.

"One of Mir's close friends. His name is Brian Douglas," said Oliver.

Jeannie frowned. Miranda noticed her confusion and gave a slight nod of her head, as if promising she would explain later.

Alex finally started bawling and everyone's attention was immediately switched to him. Jeannie wondered what the reason was for the sudden baby boom: first Susan, now Miranda.

A startling thought suddenly hit her like she'd been drenched by a bucket of ice water: what if _she_ was expected to be next?

* * *

After an extravagant dinner that had taken Mrs. Kerr all day to prepare, Jeannie finally found herself alone with Miranda. Everyone else was watching a movie in the living room while Jeannie did the dishes. This was a chore she usually detested, but there was no way she could sit still and stay engaged in a movie in her current state. She decided to take out her anxiety on the cutlery instead of biting her nails or twirling her hair.

Miranda leaned against the doorframe and watched Jeannie wordlessly for a number of minutes before speaking. "Oliver's not the father," she mumbled.

Jeannie dropped the plate she was washing into the sink, briefly forgetting about her own problems. " _What_?"

Her friend furtively glanced behind her, as if checking to make sure nobody could hear. "We broke up for a little while back in the spring and I started seeing someone else…but then we got back together. When I realized I was pregnant I originally thought Oliver was the father…but it's not possible. The timing isn't right."

"Then who is the father?" Jeannie asked, flabbergasted. She'd thought Alex bore no resemblance to Oliver, but then again infants didn't usually look much like anything.

Miranda whispered, "Brian Douglas."

"But you said he was the godfather—"

"He is. He doesn't even know he's Alex's _real_ father. Don't look at me like that, Jeannie, it was a one-time thing—"

"Mir, that makes it even _worse_! Listen, you can't keep this from Oliver forever." Jeannie dried her hands on a dishcloth and reached over to hug her. "I can be there if you want."

"I can't! Don't you remember Oliver dated Samantha Douglas in eighth grade? She's Brian's sister! Oliver told me that he lost his virginity to her."

Jeannie screwed up her face in disgust. "No offense, but that's more than I wanted to know—"

"The point is, he'll flip out when I tell him that his girlfriend's son isn't really his, but the son of the brother of the first girl he slept with." It sounded like something out of a soap opera. Jeannie could hardly believe it herself.

"Fine, Mir, but if you don't tell him then he's likely to find out for himself when Alex looks more like his godfather than him."

Miranda slumped forward in defeat, her shoulders sinking. Jeannie felt a wave of sympathy for her. "He'll be furious when he finds out—"

"When I find out what?" a voice said from the other door. Both girls jumped and Miranda began to cry quietly.

"Please tell him, Jeannie," she whispered. "I ca—can't—"

Jeannie had absolutely no idea what to say or how she was supposed to act, so she settled for a half-gentle, half-bewildered tone: "Ollie, I hate to say it, but it looks like you're not Alex's real father."

The roar that came next nearly tore the roof off the house: "WHAT?"

It was high time to get out of there. Jeannie almost sprinted out of the room, figuring it was best for everyone concerned to let the adults sort out the situation.

The next day was going to be absolutely _splendid,_ wasn't it?


	30. Part 3: November 1999: Wedding

It was well past midnight by the time Jeannie finally got to bed. She'd acted as the mediator between Oliver and Miranda while they shouted verbal abuse at each other. After it was determined nothing would be resolved that night, they'd left along with a bawling Alexander and a frightened Julia. The atmosphere at the wedding would definitely be frosty—that is, if either of them decided to come. Jeannie knew Jack would be pleased if they took the first flight back to Chicago.

God, her _wedding_. She hugged her pillow close to her and watched the shadows dance on her ceiling. She was getting _married_ in less than twelve hours. "Jennifer Napier," Jeannie whispered to herself, testing out the new name. "Jeannie Napier."

It sounded clumsy and foreign on her tongue. Jeannie twisted her ring around and sat up, certain she wasn't going to sleep anytime soon. Her eyes moved around the dark shapes in her room, slight disbelief at the fact that these were her last hours living in this house. It would have been wonderful if her parents let her and Jack live there while they adjusted to married life, but unfortunately that wasn't to be. She had a feeling no one would be able to stand each other after a week.

As she settled back down, she heard a distant creak from downstairs and her eyes flew open. _Stop it,_ she chided herself. _The noises in Jack's apartment will be even worse._ She would have to learn how to become a heavier sleeper if a tiny noise like the house settling woke her up.

She'd barely closed her eyes again, however, when she heard her door slowly open. She opened her mouth in alarm, but before she could utter a sound a voice hissed, "Shhh, _Jean_ -nie!"

"Jack?" she whispered, automatically reaching out for him in the darkness. "What are you doing here?"

"Returning the house key you gave me," he replied, dropping a small object into her hand. Jeannie could only see the shadowy outline of his form above while her eyes strained to see him more clearly. "I won't need it anymore."

There was a hoarse edge to his voice, though, one that Jeannie noticed right away. It sounded like he was gritting his teeth in pain. "Are you all right?" she murmured when her hand finally came into contact with his skin. She ran her hand up his arm until she felt a warm, sticky liquid oozing from his shoulder. Jack recoiled away from her.

"I'm fine," he tried to say. "It's nothing." But it was clear that he was in severe pain.

"Were you shot?" she asked loudly, a horrible thought occurring to her.

"No, I was stabbed—just need a towel," Jack grunted. Jeannie crawled out of bed and flicked on the bedroom light, taking in his hunched form. She could see his shirt was stained with blood and his left arm was cradling his right shoulder.

"Hang on," Jeannie said worriedly. "I'll get you something." She slipped out of her room and tiptoed down the hall to the bathroom. There were six more people in the house than usual, and she wasn't used to sneaking around at night. Normally her parents were dead to the world until the sun rose, but it was highly unlikely everyone else would be the same.

Jeannie grabbed a gauze bandage and rubbing alcohol from the cupboard under the sink and returned just as quietly to her room, hopping over spots on the floor she knew to be creaky. Jack was still hunched over in the same position, wiping blood from his arm.

"How the hell did you get _stabbed_?" she demanded, lifting up his shirt to see that the wound extended down his chest.

Jack shrugged. "The Narrows at night are never safe." He betrayed no sign of discomfort or pain as she began to administer the alcohol to the gaping cut.

"You shouldn't have even gone out," Jeannie admonished. It was slightly chilling to realize that was where she would be living next.

He looked disparaging. "I'llbe fine, tiger. It's _you_ who should be the worried one."

Jeannie ducked her head so he couldn't see her face. "I know," she muttered. "But we'll find a way out of there, Jack. As soon as I graduate we can move somewhere else."

She concentrated on dressing his wound and not meeting the gaze fixated on her. Jack stretched out on her bed, the muscles in his face relaxing as she put the alcohol down. Luckily it hadn't been a very deep cut; a scar was all that would remain. But judging from the number of half-healed wounds all over Jack's body, another one wouldn't make much of a difference.

When she was done, she settled back down into bed. Jack tested out the bandage with annoyance showing plainly on his face, but stopped when it seemed it was either leave it alone or bleed even more. When he moved to stand up, she pleaded, "Stay here."

He seemed to consider it before eventually lying back down beside her. "Can't sleep?" he asked sarcastically.

"Not at all." Jeannie rested her head on his uninjured shoulder, relaxing in the warmth of another body next to her.

"There's still time to elope," he reminded her. "We can leave now."

She smiled. "The wedding is so small it might _count_ as an elopement."

"I still think we should have done it at City Hall," he muttered.

"Of course you do." It was as if his presence was some sort of relaxant drug. Jeannie could already feel herself drifting off to sleep.

Jack kissed her deeply, but with visible restraint. They couldn't afford to do more than that with everyone so close. Jeannie broke the kiss first, feeling light-headed. She wouldn't be able to resist if she continued giving in. "Just don't get stabbed again," she mumbled. "That might put a damper on the wedding."

"Your wish is my command," he said with more than a hint of mockery.

He said something else, but Jeannie couldn't hear because she wasn't already asleep.

When she woke up the next morning, he was gone.

* * *

All of Jeannie's trepidation vanished the next morning. She woke up without a hint of anxiety and greeted everyone cheerfully, even helping her mother with breakfast and eating more than she usually did in an entire day.

"I thought brides were supposed to be scared stiff on their wedding day," Harriet muttered to her boyfriend, Kenneth. He smiled affectionately and kissed her nose. She giggled, but the over-the-top flirting didn't bother Jeannie this time.

She was glad to see her rebellious older sister in a stable relationship. Kenneth was a far cry from the tattooed, tough men Harriet had previously dated. He went to an art school and was tall, slim, and fragile-looking, but even Jeannie had to admit his glasses and tousled brown hair were handsome. He'd been dating Harriet for seven months and the couple seemed happy.

On the other hand, Rebecca had been seeing her current boyfriend George for almost two years. Like Kenneth, George was an odd match. He was an actor and wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he and Rebecca made a surprisingly good couple. Jeannie had learned to restrain herself from passing judgment on anyone's choice of significant other—it would be hypocritical to after what she'd gone through with Jack.

After breakfast, her sisters hurried her upstairs where someone had already laid her dress out on the bed. Jeannie had been struck by its simplistic yet classic design: it was tight around the waist and flared out at the bottom, ending in a two-foot long train. Since it was November, she'd made sure the dress had puffy sleeves so her arms wouldn't freeze in the chilly air.

"That's a beautiful dress," Susan remarked, folding her hands over her stomach. "Where did you get it?"

Jeannie blushed. "It was on sale at a boutique downtown." She remembered Susan's extravagant, thousand-dollar wedding dress and wondered if her sister-in-law was just being polite.

"What about Jack's suit?" asked Rebecca.

"I'm not sure. He said it was taken care of, though," Jeannie replied, privately thinking it wouldn't be at all uncharacteristic for him to show up in jeans and a shirt.

She looked up just in time to see the three women exchanging a glance. " _What_?"

"Nothing," Susan said quickly. Rebecca pretended to be absorbed in the dress, but Harriet bit her lip.

"Jeannie, despite what you may think otherwise, we're your sisters. We care about you, and, uh…we want to know what made you fall in love with Jack. We're not going to judge," she said as Jeannie opened her mouth, "We're just curious. You don't speak much about your relationship."

"It's, uh…it's complicated," Jeannie said after a long pause. "We were friends first, and I guess it just grew into something more. Jack is sarcastic, funny, intelligent…he has a sort of charisma, it's like a magnetic pull. I know that sounds lame, but it's the best way I can describe it."

"Did you start dating because you felt sorry for him?" Harriet prodded. "If he wasn't abused and looked, well, _normal_ , would you have given him a second thought?"

Jeannie widened her eyes, stung. "Of course! Even if he'd had a different upbringing, he would still be Jack."

This caused another loaded glance between her sisters. Susan looked uncomfortable, and Jeannie felt for her. She knew what it was like to be left out of conversations.

"Have you had sex?" Rebecca asked bluntly. Susan looked even more mortified.

"What is this, the third degree?" Jeannie shot back. "Why do you want to know all of this?" But her high-pitched voice gave her away.

"No offense, but you're getting married at nineteen," Harriet said. "We just want to make sure you're making the right choice."

"Excuse me, but you were pregnant at fifteen," Jeannie snapped, unable to stop herself.

Harriet flushed, affronted. "Fine. You can divorce him for all I care."

Her sister's temper was always quick to flare up, but Jeannie felt the blow all the same. Rebecca noticed her face crumple and mumbled, "Harriet, please calm down."

"I'm _not_ going to calm down," her sister retorted. "Why can't everybody just shut up about that? I made a stupid mistake when I was a teenager, I get it. I don't want that to haunt me for the rest of my life." Before anyone could stop her, she flounced out of the bedroom.

Jeannie sank down onto the bed and blinked away the hot tears that had already begun to form in the corners of her eyes. Susan and Rebecca were immediately upon her, wrapping their arms around her and offering words of comfort and reassurance.

But it wasn't Harriet's anger that upset Jeannie so much: it was her meaning. What if she _was_ making the wrong decision? What if she and Jack became just another statistic in six months? What would she do if she realized she wasted five and a half years on the wrong person?

The last thought sent her over the edge and she began to cry in earnest. Someone called Mrs. Kerr, but her mother did little to soothe her. All Jeannie could blubber out was, "Don't know…what to do…I was fine until Harriet started asking me questions…"

While her family tried frantically to calm her down, she grabbed her cell phone and read through all of the texts Jack had sent her, hoping that reading his words would make her feel better. As if on cue, she received a message just as she was sorting through them:

_Jack 9:00 am: Got cold feet yet?_

The teasing tone soothed Jeannie in a way no one else could manage to do: like the night before, she felt herself relax and all the fight left her. She quickly typed a reply:

_Jeannie 9:03 am: Yeah, actually, Oliver and I are eloping right now. We're going to honeymoon in Alaska._

Meanwhile, her sisters were staring at her incredulously. "You got over that quick," Rebecca said. "Was that Jack?"

Jeannie nodded. Mrs. Kerr rubbed her back softly. "If he can cheer you up that quickly, then I don't think there's anything to worry about," she said. "Becky, can you and Susan take care of Harriet now?"

"Will she be all right?" Jeannie asked.

Mrs. Kerr smiled. "I think so. Tempers are always running high at major events."

"Tell me about it," she answered, looking wryly at her phone.

* * *

Jeannie spent the next three hours being primped, polished, groomed, and adorned. She hadn't realized how much work was going to be put into her makeup and hair. Her mother, Rebecca, Susan, and even Harriet were bent over her, curling her hair and pulling it up into an elegant bun. Her face was plastered with so much makeup Jeannie worried she looked like a completely different person. After they were satisfied with her appearance, she was stuffed into her dress like a turkey trussed up for Thanksgiving.

"Are you almost ready to leave?" Mr. Kerr shouted from downstairs just as Mrs. Kerr was zipping up Jeannie's dress.

"Almost!" her mother called back. "She just needs to look in the mirror!"

Jeannie hadn't wanted to see what Harriet called her "new and improved self" but there was no avoiding it once Rebecca pushed her in the direction of the mirror. She chanced a glance up at herself and was pleasantly surprised at the girl she saw, the girl who looked much older than nineteen with flushed cheeks and a far slimmer figure than she actually had. Instead of making her look like a raccoon, the sparkling eye shadow Harriet insisted on made her eyes pop out. Her cheeks were bright pink, whether from the blush or excitement she wasn't sure. In short, she looked more beautiful than she thought she ever would.

"I think you look better than those models in magazines," Susan said. "More...natural."

Jeannie knew for sure this was just politeness, as she looked nowhere _near_ as attractive as the brides that adorned the covers of all the magazines did. But she wasn't complaining.

* * *

It was a cloudy, overcast day. The wind rippled the leaves on the trees and a hint of rain hovered in the air. Jeannie stayed quiet the entire ride down to the park, letting everyone else fuss over her. Mrs. Kerr was already getting teary-eyed and Mr. Kerr was looking disoriented, as if he couldn't quite believe what was going on.

Sunset Park was named for its supposed stunning view of the ocean—in a way, Gotham had been built around it. Unfortunately, the downtown skyline now completely blocked out any view there would be of either sunset or sunrise. As the largest recreational area in the city, it was a popular attraction for both residents and tourists, especially the river path, which wound around the entire island.

Mr. Kerr had pulled a few strings and was successful in getting a small part of the path closed for the day. Though Sunset Park often hosted weddings, spots by the river were notoriously difficult to attain. Jeannie was ecstatic when her father had given her the good news. It was a far better alternative to getting married in an office at City Hall, as Jack had alluded to countless times.

If she hadn't been looking for it, she would never have guessed there was any kind of event taking place there that day. A thin rope fenced off approximately an acre of land and several benches were set up facing an overhang covered with flowers. Across the river, the towering steel buildings blocked the horizon and subsequent view of the ocean.

They weren't the first to arrive; Emily and her parents were already wandering down the path. When she saw Jeannie had arrived, Emily dashed towards the car, hiking up the skirt of her light blue dress. Her face erupted into a grin when she caught sight of her friend. "You look gorgeous," she exclaimed. "I love your hair!"

"Thanks," Jeannie said, grabbing Emily's hands and letting her pull her out of the car. "Has anyone else arrived yet?"

"I don't think so," Emily answered. "You only invited seventeen people, right?"

"Twenty," corrected Jeannie. She quickly recounted the unpleasant encounter the night before.

Emily's mouth dropped open in disgust and astonishment. "Oliver's not the father?" she exclaimed. "No offense to Miranda or anything, but how much of a slut can you _get_?"

"I don't think that relationship is going to last very long," Jeannie admitted. "I can't say I'm surprised. Oliver and Miranda just don't…click together."

Emily looked sternly at her. "Now that he's single, don't get any ideas," she warned. It was a joke, but Jeannie couldn't help envisioning the wedding if she was marrying Oliver instead of Jack.

They wouldn't be at a park in Gotham; that was for sure. It would be at some upscale, private residence in Chicago, with hundreds of guests and a lavish reception—the whole nine yards. She wouldn't have to struggle to live above the poverty line with Oliver; they would be living in a condo downtown for the first few years of their marriage. Then, when the time was right, they would move to the suburbs and start a family.

As children, the two of them had recounted the scenario endlessly: they would have a boy first, named Carl, after Oliver's deceased father. He would have Oliver's handsome looks and Jeannie's blue eyes. Oliver would teach him sports and Jeannie would teach him how to read and finger-paint. In two or three years, they would have a little girl for Carl to play with, named Tracy. She would have Jeannie's looks and Oliver's dark eyes. She would be quieter than her brother and very intelligent.

Oliver and Jeannie would save up just enough money to go on vacation to Disney World every year. When Carl and Tracy became too old, they would go to Hawaii instead. Jeannie would be a teacher and Oliver a doctor. They would be the quintessential American family.

But that bubble had burst when Jeannie moved away and Oliver began dating Samantha Douglas. She was old enough by now to know that nothing in life ever turned out the way it was planned.

As if sensing her pain, Emily put a hand on her shoulder. "He's not worth it, Jeannie," she whispered. It was plain she wasn't talking about Jack.

"I must look like such an idiot, Em," Jeannie whispered. She lamely held up her bouquet of flowers. "I'm getting married while I'm still a teenager and going to live with my new husband in his poor apartment where I'll probably starve to death. It's like Harriet said—I'll be divorced in six months."

"No, you won't," Emily said firmly. "I think it's very romantic. You love Jack and he loves you. He came back to Gotham for _you_ , Jeannie. If that's not love, I don't know what is."

"It's not now I'm worried about," Jeannie protested. "It's the next five, ten, twenty years from now. Will he still feel the same way about me then?"

"Look, marriage is always a gamble. Sometimes you make it, sometimes you don't. Let's use our parents as examples. My parents have basically worked their asses off for three decades to get where they are now. They have a nice house, a nice car, two children. But are they happy with each other? No. The only reason they're not divorced is because they're richer together than apart. Your parents, on the other hand, obviously still love each other. They don't need a fancy car or a huge house. Instead of working twelve-hour days, they give up a bit of money to spend time with each other. Now, which couple would you rather be like, Jeannie? Take it from me—you can't have the best of both worlds."

Jeannie listened to Emily's speech impassively. "I know _I'll_ try to make it work. But what if he doesn't?"

"Then he's not worth it," her friend said immediately. "There's not much else I can say to you. I have faith you guys will stay together."

At least someone was supportive of the marriage. Jeannie gave Emily a much-deserved hug. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "I truly mean it."

* * *

The officiant arrived soon after, with the Hammets lagging behind. The air between Miranda and Oliver was literally frosty, and neither of them refused to go within ten feet of the other. Jeannie greeted them both separately and they made no mention of the fiasco the night before. She sensed they were trying to be on their best behavior; if not for her, at least for Alexander.

There was no sign of Jack until fifteen minutes before one; Emily ushered her away from everyone so he couldn't see her. "I don't care how non-traditional this is, it's bad luck to let him see you before the ceremony," she insisted.

Jeannie humored her and stayed hidden until Mr. Kerr appeared; he was trying to surreptitiously dab his eyes with a tissue. "Dad, don't cry," Jeannie said, patting his arm. "You still have two other daughters to marry off."

"But you're the youngest," he said, surveying her with reddened eyes. "I can still remember when we brought you home from the hospital. You just would _not_ stop crying and we thought there was something wrong."

"Dad," Jeannie muttered in embarrassment. "Save the baby stories for the grandchildren, all right?"

The benign statement had more of an effect on her father than she intended it to; his eyes widened at the mention of the word _grandchildren_ and he opened his mouth to lecture her on how she was too young, married or not, but luckily Emily saved her by tapping on Mr. Kerr's shoulder and whispering, "They're ready!"

"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath and looping Jeannie's arm through his. "Ready, sweetheart?"

Jeannie looked at him dubiously, trying to calm her fluttering nerves. "I should be asking _you_ that."

He was back to stern-father mode: giving her a pointed look, he gently pulled her toward the crowd.

They hadn't hired a band and none of the guests had any sort of musical talent, but Mrs. Kerr had insisted on playing the wedding march so they'd compromised with a CD. Jeannie felt shy and ridiculous as everyone turned to look at her, keeping her eyes downcast. She could feel her face growing hot and everything had a shimmering quality, like she was in a dream.

"Look up," Mr. Kerr whispered in her ear. After another moment, Jeannie hesitantly obeyed him, but her eyes were only searching for one person.

Nothing was like she'd envisioned it in her daydream eleven months ago at Liam's wedding. They weren't in a tent filled with beaming guests, and nobody's eyes shone with approval and respect. A cold wind blew across the grass and Jeannie shivered. The music wasn't rich and loud; it was tinny and artificial.

But really, what did the extravagance of a wedding matter? Jeannie mused. Wasn't the actual _purpose_ more important?

When she reached Jack, she finally understood that they could have gotten married in an office and she wouldn't have cared. It was like Emily had told her: the outcome was the same no matter how it was carried out.

He was smiling, and for once it wasn't a smirk or an empty grin. It was one of the only true smiles she'd ever seen him give. Sure, his eyes weren't "brimming with desire" like she'd envisioned them to, but that was fine—it would have been extremely unusual for him to show such an overt display of emotion. Instead, his eyes had a muted happiness that was just as invigorating in its own right.

The officiant loudly cleared his throat and began to read the vows. Jeannie listened to them with a sort of detachment; she felt like she was floating above the ceremony, not at all connected to her body.

When it came time for the "I do's", Jack had to prod her to bring her back to earth. She started and managed to stumble over the words. The officiant gave her a pointed look and when Jack answered his part right away she felt even more embarrassed. Had anyone noticed?

Jeannie messed up even more with the rings; her hands were shaking so much she was barely able to slip it on Jack's finger. She chanced a quick glance up at him in apology, but he simply looked amused. She knew he would never let her forget that.

Finally, _finally_ , they were done with the preliminaries and the officiant put down his booklet. Clearing his throat, he announced in a far louder voice than Jeannie wished, "I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now—"

"Kiss the bride, I know," Jack finished, earning startled laughter from the guests, and proceeded to kiss Jeannie so hard she knew her lips would be bruised the next day. When they broke apart and turned to the audience everyone started clapping. For the first time, Jeannie felt like things would turn out all right.

* * *

There was no formal reception; no eight-course dinner. The only food in sight was a small wedding cake and glasses of champagne. As the adults liked to point out, the bride and groom were still under the legal drinking age; but even Mr. Kerr overlooked this fact for once.

One upside to having a small number of guests was that there was less visiting to do. It took Jeannie only forty minutes to speak with everyone and answer questions about the honeymoon and their future plans. Jack didn't leave her side for an instant, especially when she was talking to Oliver. _That_ conversation didn't last long—all he did was mutter a congratulations and slink away.

When they were finally left alone Jeannie leaned her head on Jack's shoulder and ask, " _Where_ did you get that suit?"

"Does that really matter, _Jean_ -nie?" he retorted. "I don't own it, that's for sure."

"Then whose is it?" she demanded, but he just smirked down at her.

It was hard to look at Jack and think of him as her husband now. She was a married woman. It was difficult to tell whether the notion terrified or excited her.

"Are you happy now, Jack?" she asked. "Jack?"

He was staring at someone in the distance with narrowed eyes. At first, Jeannie thought it was a normal parkgoer who was merely taking a stroll down the path, but as they got closer it became clear the person was heading in their direction.

"Isn't that one of the men you used to work with?" Jeannie asked. She recognized his dark hair and tanned skin—it was the man she'd spoken to when she had visited the bar.

" _Paolo_ ," Jack growled. "Stay here, Jeannie."

"I'm coming with you," she insisted. He pulled her into his shoulder and gripped her hand tightly as if shielding her.

"What do you want?" he called, walking over to meet the newcomer halfway so the others were out of earshot.

"To congratulate you," Paolo answered, giving Jeannie a worried smile. "I heard from… _othe_ rs about today."

Jack's grip on her was no so tight it was painful. "How did they know?"

Paolo's eyes darted back and forth between them and he began to sweat nervously. "They do this to everybody," he admitted. "But I like you, boy, so I felt I had to warn you. Be careful. They are following your every move. They know exactly where you are and what you're doing. I wouldn't be surprised if some of them are around right now."

"Who?" Jeannie asked. Neither man answered.

"What do they want?" Jack demanded, visibly angered.

Paolo shook his head. "I don't know, I have no idea!" he cried. "Just watch your step, Mr. Napier. If you put even one toe out of line, they will cut that toe off and let you bleed to death."

"Who are you talking about?" Jeannie asked. "Please tell me!"

Jack exchanged a silent glance with Paolo, whose eyes showed nothing but fear and warning. "I could be tortured for telling you this right now," he said harshly. "I only came because I don't want to see you or your wife die. Just please don't tell them about me!"

"Are you sure there's nothing in it for you?" Jack said harshly.

"No, no! I'm a good person, honestly! I _am_ telling the truth. If I wasn't, then how would I know where to find you?"

Jack surveyed Paolo for a long moment, judging his value. He gave a slight incline of the head, apparently deeming him worthy. "I'll be careful," he said.

The older man looked relieved. "Thank you," he replied. "They've taken a special interest in you for some reason."

"Jack, _please_ tell me what is going on!" Jeannie begged.

"It appears I've just, ah, rubbed one of my employers the wrong way," he answered, smiling affectionately at her dubious look.

"Jeannie!" Emily's distant cry came from behind them. "Come have some cake!"

Her beckoning couldn't have come at a worse time. Jeannie threw Jack a helpless look, but he merely let go of her and whispered, "Go, tiger." She had no other choice but to head back to the assembled group, throwing glances back at Paolo and Jack as she did.

"Who is he talking to?" Emily asked as soon as she rejoined the guests.

"A friend from work," responded Jeannie.

"He has _friends_?"

"Apparently so." Yet again, Jeannie looked behind them. Paolo was now making wild gestures with his arms, shaking his head and pointing at her. What was he saying?

Even with cake as a distraction, her curiosity kept building. Jeannie was just about to give up and go back over when she felt Jack beside her again. Paolo was nowhere to be seen.

"Tell me what happened," she ordered, but he stayed frustratingly silent.

When the cake had been eaten, the champagne drunk, and the gifts opened the party began to die down. Miranda, Oliver and the Hammets left first, with many (empty, Jeannie was sure) promises to keep in touch. Emily and her parents were next, with Harriet and Kenneth third. After everything had been cleaned up the only guests left were Mr. and Mrs. Kerr.

"I'll give you a ride to the airport," Mr. Kerr offered. "What time does your flight leave?"

"Seven," Jeannie said. She looked over at Jack to gauge his reaction. "I'll call you guys when we arrive in California."

Her mother managed to pry her away long enough to give her a hug. "Stay safe," she whispered. "Let us know what the house is like."

"I will, Mom," Jeannie said. "Love you."

" _Be careful when you come back_ ," she whispered, so low that even Jack couldn't hear. " _Gotham is a dangerous place._ "

Oh, how well Jeannie knew that.

* * *

The second their plane took off, she exchanged a look of pure relief with Jack. The wedding was finally over. No more worrying about bad weather or arguing about the location. In fact, Jeannie was free to forget about Paolo and what he had said. She didn't need to worry about how she would cope in Jack's apartment or how she would adjust to living in the Narrows. For two blissful weeks, all Jeannie had to worry about was what time to get up in the morning.

It was a comforting thought, putting her life on hold— at least for now.


	31. November 1999: Honeymoon

The two weeks she spent in California were, most decidedly, the happiest of Jeannie's life. It was unapologetic, wild bliss. She'd been jubilant when Jack had proposed to her, but this—this was beyond words.

They were isolated along the rocky shore of the Pacific Ocean, the house built very close to the edge of a steep cliff. There were signs placed all up and down the beach warning of sharks, but Jeannie went swimming at least once a day and never saw any sign of them.

The beach house was stunning: airy and open with floor-to-ceiling picture windows and expensive furniture. It took Jeannie a while to stop tiptoeing around and treating everything like it was fragile; she stopped worrying about the fact they were living in someone else's house. When she got over that, she began to pretend that it was actually their _own_ house and that they would spend the rest of their lives there.

But all good things must eventually come to an end, and Jeannie never felt that as acutely as she did on the last day of the honeymoon. The day was drawing to a close and the vivid sunset, much better than any spectacle in the so-called "Sunset Park", was beginning to stain the horizon. Jeannie was curled up on a chair in the patio; watching the waves lap methodically over the beach and feeling the temperature slowly drop as night advanced.

They would leave early the next morning and, once back in Gotham, spend the better part of their day moving Jeannie's things to her new apartment. She planned to spice up the living quarters and surprise Jack with the new furniture she'd bought.

Then she would go for a drive around the Narrows (a walk would be too dangerous) to try and familiarize herself with the surroundings…if she didn't freeze to death first. The weather forecaster had cheerfully announced that Gotham was about to experience its first blizzard of the season.

It was hard to imagine snow here, not where the mosquitos still buzzed and the crickets still chirped. Jeannie now had a newfound jealousy about Rebecca going to college in Los Angeles. She would permanently move to the west coast if she could.

Jeannie watched the sun bleed over the horizon, lingering streaks of red and orange still lining the sky. She should start to go tidy things up again—it was the least she could do after Mrs. Kerr's friends had lent them the house so readily.

Just as Jeannie was about to untangle herself from the chair and stand up, she noticed a movement from the house behind. Jack was at the window, his phone to his ear and he was speaking in what seemed to be an urgent tone. Jeannie was about to wave, but as soon as he realized she'd spotted him he disappeared.

Jeannie's hand froze in mid-air and she slowly lowered it, confused. Who could he possibly be talking to? If her parents had called he would have brought the phone outside by now.

Taking one last longing glance at the brilliant sunset, she scooped up her empty wine glass and headed back inside, determined to discover the cause of Jack's anxiety.

He hadn't given in to her demands to know why Paolo had visited them at the wedding. No matter how much Jeannie begged, pleaded or threatened, Jack wouldn't say a word about the topic. Sometimes he would crack a joke; other times he would simply ignore her. This was seriously starting to bother Jeannie, who was concerned about the fact he was keeping important matters—and they obviously had to be important—from her. If she was in danger, she had the right to at least know what was going on.

But when she arrived back inside Jack had already hung up and was sitting cross-legged on the bed reading a book on criminal psychology. Jeannie paused in the doorway and cleared her throat irritably. He looked up, feigning innocence. "Finished writing poetry about the sunset already?"

"Who were you talking to?" she asked. "Someone from work _warning_ you again?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Jack replied. He carelessly shoved the book off the bed and stretched his legs out. "It looks like I won't have to _leave_ the town on a job for a while."

"Why not?"

"I've, uh, _exceeded_ their expectations and I guess you could say they're giving me a short break." Jack patted the space next to him. "Now, come here, tiger. Tonight's the last night we won't have to worry about being _quiet_."

Jeannie ground her teeth in annoyance. "I want the truth, Jack."

"But that _is_ the truth," he said. "The apartment's walls are very thin—"

"Not _that_. I mean the truth about your job. Why are you keeping secrets from me?"

"I'm not, _Jean_ -nie. It's better if you don't know." Seeing she wasn't convinced, he sighed theatrically. "What's the problem? You look nervous."

"I am," she replied. "I want to know if I'm in danger."

Jack's eyebrows shot up in surprise. " _Danger_? No, no, no. Not while I'm around. They wouldn't _dare_ touch you…" He continued muttering to himself inaudibly.

Was he losing it? "Jack?" Jeannie asked hesitantly. "Are you all right?"

The sound of her voice appeared to snap him out of it and his eyes refocused. "It's not important, tiger," he said firmly.

"But—"

"Leave. It. _Alone_."

He spoke with such fierceness that Jeannie felt genuinely nervous for a moment. Jack noticed this and pursed his lips, looking disappointed. "Why can't you just do what you're told, _Jean-_ nie?"

"You wouldn't like me anymore if I did," she retorted, still feeling slightly shaken.

Jack grinned. "Touché." He reached out a hand and pulled her onto the bed, ignoring her half-hearted protests.

* * *

Carmine Falcone was not happy.

"How much money have I given this kid?" he demanded of Dimitrov, who was sitting across from him at a mob-owned restaurant. "Ten thousand? Twenty thousand? He gets better pay than some men who have been working for me for _years_."

Dimitrov continued calmly smoking his pipe, unfazed by Falcone's anger. "Even you have to admit he is _very_ efficient," he said reasonably. "He gets the job done quicker than most, and he's still flying under the radar. Perhaps he does leave things a little _too_ bloody, but that's not our biggest problem…"

"Do you know where he is now?" Falcone challenged. "On a _honeymoon_ in California. His new father-in-law is a _police officer_."

Dimitrov sighed. He was tired, his head ached, and he longed to get back home to his mistress. "The kid's not going to do anything, boss. He's nineteen. He'll be too scared to squeal. Besides, it will take suspicion away from him now that he's married."

"This isn't fucking _Romeo and Juliet_ ," Falcone hissed, baring his yellow teeth together. "I don't care how good of a job he does; he's got to be watched. Get Lindner over here, will you?"

"Yes, boss." Dimitrov extinguished his cigarette and added, "Remember who his father was. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"Paul Napier was ruthless but stupid as a rock," grumbled Falcone. "It's a wonder he even remembered where his dick was."

"But he killed—"

"It's not about the numbers, Dimitrov! It's the intelligence and the competence. Sure, Napier had sheer numbers on his side, but that didn't help him in the end, did it?" Without bothering to listen to his associate's response, Falcone waved a hand impatiently, signaling the end of the conversation. Dimitrov's jaw clenched but he left the restaurant without another word.

Half an hour later a different man slid into the seat across from Falcone's. He was tall, composed, and elegant, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. In his youth he had been extremely handsome and desirable, but the stern, no-nonsense look on his face was anything but welcoming.

"Ah, Lindner," Falcone said in approval. "Glad to hear you could get out of work."

"What do you want?" he asked at once, getting straight to the point.

Allan Lindner was the manager of Gotham National Bank, a known mob bank. As one of Falcone's most trusted associates, he knew nearly as much about the inner workings of the city's organized crime as Carmine himself.

"I need you to keep a close watch on a boy named Jack Napier," Falcone instructed. "I don't just want you to spy on him—I want you to make friends with him. Let him trust you. Have an affair with his _wife_ ; I don't care! Get all the information on him you can, using whatever method works."

Lindner's blank mask disappeared for a second, revealing true surprise. "Is he the kid who's shaming even your most…proficient dispatchers?"

" _Yes_ ," Falcone growled. "I need to bring him down a peg."

"Do you have his files?"

The crime lord retrieved his briefcase and sifted through a mountain of papers before tearing one out and shoving it at Lindner. "Study it. He had a pretty fucked up childhood, so remember never to mention it to him."

Lindner neatly folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. "I won't disappoint you."

"You better not," Falcone warned. "Or you just might find the kid coming after _you_."

Actually, it would be preferable if Napier brought down Lindner. Falcone liked the bank manager as much as he probably could like anyone, but there was definitely some appeal in killing two birds with one stone.

But it really didn't matter what happened in the end. Whichever way things turned out, he, Falcone, would still come out on top. He always had, and always would.


	32. November 1999: Adjusting

Even though she knew full well what she was getting herself into when she married Jack, Jeannie still had a momentary sense of dismay each time she walked into her new home.

To be honest, it took a very long stretch of the imagination to think of Jack's apartment as "home". Nothing about the drab, gray walls or the moldy furniture was welcoming. During the day, slamming doors and shouts filled the air. At night, car horns and distant sirens made it impossible to sleep.

Jeannie had grown up in the suburbs, where the only noise at night was Mr. Kerr snoring. She wasn't used to the constant barrage of sound outside that was still clearly audible in the apartment. As a result, she lay awake for hours every night, staring at the cracked ceiling and feeling more homesick than ever.

She couldn't understand how Jack slept so calmly. He was an extremely light sleeper, sensing whenever she moved beside him, but he didn't stir at the sound of their neighbor's blaring television. In fact, he breathed extremely shallowly and more than once an alarmed Jeannie had to check that he was still alive.

It was a week after they'd arrived back in Gotham and already she was beginning to feel the effects of sleep deprivation. Jeannie lay on her back and tried to calm herself into a stupor by envisioning palm trees and crystal-clear water. Very slowly, she could feel herself drifting off—

BANG! The gunshot reverberated around the room as loudly as if it had been shot from the next room. Jeannie bolted upright and nearly fell out of bed, her heart pounding. "Did you hear that?" she asked Jack, who had stirred at her panic.

He opened one eye and gave her a look of pure incredulity before dropping his head back onto the pillow. Not deterred by his facetiousness, Jeannie repeated, "Are we in danger? Should I—"

"By all means, go and check it out," he mumbled. "I'm sure they would _love_ to stay and chat."

There was no way she was going to get back to sleep anytime soon, so Jeannie quietly climbed out of bed and went into the kitchen to make some hot chocolate. It didn't take long before she realized Jack didn't have any chocolate powder, so she settled for warm milk.

It was strange that Jeannie had never felt more alone in her life, even with Jack in the room next door. She felt completely isolated from her family and friends. The honeymoon had been wonderful; but now that she was actually settling down into a routine, the stark reality of what she had to face every day was sinking in. What if they never moved out of the apartment? What if she failed university? What if Jack was killed? What if _she_ was killed? It could have just as easily been one of them who were in the path of that bullet. All she had to do was simply be in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was all too easy to do in the Narrows.

A gust of early-winter wind blew outside, causing the very foundations of the building to rattle and shake. There had to be at least three feet of snow outside and nobody bothered to shovel the streets, so Jeannie had to get up an hour early in order to make it to school on time. The worst part was that Jack didn't own a heater, so she had to make do with mounds of blankets and layers of clothes. And it was only November.

God, she'd only been married three weeks and she was already questioning the decision. Some honeymoon periods lasted several years—hers was over in a matter of days.

Perhaps that could have been due to the rude awakening of having to transition from a two-thousand square foot house to a two-hundred square foot apartment. It wasn't Jack so much (although he did have irritating habits such as not doing the dishes and expecting her to cook and clean) as it was the living situation itself. If they'd moved to an actual _house_ , Jeannie thought, things would be a lot better.

But unfortunately that didn't look like it was going to happen anytime soon. Even with the now-dual income and the extra money from Jack's shady "jobs", it was hardly enough to afford anything outside of the Narrows. She'd been working overtime at the restaurant while trying to find a new job and Jack was working ten-hour shifts at the chemical factory. They were lucky if they even got to _see_ each other during the day.

Somewhere in the middle of her musings, Jeannie fell asleep. The next thing she was aware of was a stabbing pain in her back. Groaning, she lifted her head to see the room was flooded with light. Jack stood in front of her, looking amused. "Is this more comfortable, _Jean_ -nie?" he asked.

She didn't even have the energy to glare at him; moving slowly, she shuffled back into the bedroom. He followed her, chuckling all the way. "It's almost six," he pointed out. "You'll be late for class if you—"

"I'm not going today," she grumbled, pulling the pillow over her head. "There's no way I can drive when I'm this tired."

"I'll drive you," he offered. Jeannie fumbled for the other pillow and threw it in Jack's general direction. There was a loud thunk as it hit the wall behind him and he started to laugh.

"'S'not _funny_ ," she moaned. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"I have the day off," he explained. "I'm supposed to meet someone this afternoon."

Jeannie stuck her head back out, surprised. "With who? I thought you said you wouldn't be going on any more trips for a while."

"I have no idea what it's about," Jack replied. "They probably just want to make sure I haven't run off with the money."

"How hard can keeping an eye on someone be?"

"Look, Jeannie," he said, now visibly exasperated, "I don't even know who's gonna be there. It might be someone I work with for all they told me."

"Just don't do anything stupid," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm worried about you, Jack—"

"Don't be," he said angrily. "I have it under control."

But Jeannie knew he was just being arrogant, overestimating himself as usual. "The last thing I want to say is 'I told you so'," she warned him. "Don't put me in that position."

"You would enjoy it," he accused, a slight smirk on his face. It took a few seconds before she reluctantly returned the smile.

As his wife, she had more control over him than when she was merely his girlfriend. But how far did that control extend? And more importantly, how long would he even listen to her?

* * *

Jack Napier, Lindner decided, was one of those people who had trouble with authority. He'd probably been the rebellious, sarcastic type in school (if he'd even attended) who swore at the teachers and scared the hell out of the younger students. His confident walk and flippant demeanor told the bank manager all he needed to know: the kid had a high opinion of himself and wasn't afraid to admit it.

When Lindner introduced himself and shook his hand, Jack responded with a perfectly practiced smirk and a joke, but the amusement never reached his eyes. They appeared to be frozen solid; sucking in all the light from around them but never letting anything out in return.

Lindner was pretending to be a professional banker, explaining that all of Jack's money from now on was being stored in the mob bank so it would be more secure. He put on a false air of friendliness, inquiring about his wife and his living situation. Jack was very curt, only giving one-word replies. Honestly, Lindner had no idea how _anyone_ could have fallen in love with him, let alone a girl from a fairly well-to-do family. She must _really_ care about him if she moved to the Narrows.

Jack didn't eat anything the entire time they were at the restaurant. He was tall and skinny; he had probably been lanky as a boy, but now he was beginning to fill out and look more like a man. Falcone had described him as "boyish", but his face was obviously changing quickly. He was stuck in the awkward position between man and boy.

"So, how old are you, Jack?" Lindner asked, faking ignorance.

"I'll be twenty in a month and a half," the boy answered. His eyes bore into Lindner with an unsettling intensity.

"Congratulations. By the way, if you don't mind me asking…how exactly did you get those scars?" he continued. Falcone had told him never to mention the boy's past, but Lindner was far too curious not to ask. The kid had to have been through something really brutal to get a Glasgow smile like that. Did he have previous dealings with the mob?

"It was my mother," Jack said emotionlessly, but he kept his gaze fixed on Lindner. "She didn't like seeing me unhappy, so she, uh, made sure I was always _smiling._ She had a hard life, see, and didn't want me to grow up the same way."

Lindner was sure he was lying. There was no way a boy as closed off as him would immediately reveal one of his deepest secrets to a stranger. But he couldn't let his disbelief show. "Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger, I guess," he said, finally breaking the eye contact.

"Stranger," Jack said. Lindner frowned at him. "What doesn't kill you makes you stranger," he repeated, and smirked.


	33. December 1999: Christmas

**One Month Later**

**December 1999**

It took Jeannie the better part of the day to do it, but she finally managed to lug the Christmas tree home under one arm. She'd been grocery shopping and spotted a kind old man selling Christmas trees on the corner. Nobody celebrated Christmas in the Narrows (there was no point in celebrating when most people couldn't even afford gifts for _themselves,_ let alone their families) and those that did certainly wouldn't put up a tree; but Jeannie wanted to cheer up the apartment a bit. Besides, the trees weren't expensive and it would provide some much-needed money for the old man. (Where he'd actually _gotten_ the trees from in the first place was another story).

Now all she needed to do was string some ornaments on it. Jeannie perched on the couch and stared thoughtfully at the tree—even though it did make the room look even smaller, it seemed merrier already—wondering if her parents would lend her some spare decorations next time she visited. They could be presents.

Speaking of presents, she still had no idea what to get Jack. Neither of them had mentioned gifts to the other, and Jeannie was sure he wasn't planning anything special. A week off of work was enough for both of them.

Just as Jeannie stood back to examine her work, her cell phone rang. Jack didn't have a landline; besides, as he satirically pointed out, who would call him anyway?

"Guess what?" Liam asked as soon as she answered. He sounded weary but delighted.

"You're moving back to Gotham?" Jeannie joked. From what she could gather, her brother was more than happy to be away from the city. Although Susan had grown up in Gotham, Chicago seemed to be even more to her liking than her hometown.

"Unfortunately, no," Liam said wryly. "Susan had the baby."

"Boy or girl?" demanded Jeannie. She still couldn't imagine her supercilious, condescending older brother as a father.

"It's a boy and his name is David," Liam answered. "Mom and Dad changed their plans and are coming here for Christmas instead."

Jeannie tried her best to conceal her disappointment. She'd been counting on Mrs. Kerr making them a turkey dinner and Jack experiencing an actual Christmas. "Sounds good," she lied.

"Do you want to join them?" Liam asked. "We have an extra room if you and Jack want to visit as well."

"We can't," she sighed. "I can barely afford gas for the car, let alone two plane tickets. Besides, I don't even know if Jack is going to be in the city or not…"

It was sadly true. He was gone at strange hours during the night and there was no telling when he would be back. Many women would become suspicious, but Jeannie was confident she had nothing to worry about. If the looks he gave prostitutes on the street were any indication, he would be more inclined to kill them than sleep with them. Emily already jokingly called him "Jack the Ripper", but she had no idea how close she might be to the truth.

After Liam hung up, Jeannie made a salad for dinner since it didn't look like Jack would be home anytime soon, and started on her term paper that was due the next week. Exams were approaching fast and what with all the changes that had recently taken place in her life, school was taking a backseat to everything else at the moment.

If Jeannie had to describe her current state in one word, it would be exhausted. She was exhausted from work, exhausted from school, exhausted from lack of sleep. The first year of marriage was supposed to be one long "good time"; but the only thing Jeannie wanted to give a good time was her bed.

Jack arrived home shortly after midnight, covered in the usual blood and bruises. He took one look at the tree standing in the living room and glared at Jeannie. "Get it _out_ ," he snapped.

"Come on, Jack!" she pleaded. "It would do us both good to at least pretend to be happy. I'll ask my parents for some ornaments and we can decorate the tree."

He appeared too drained to continue arguing; instead of insisting it be removed he trudged to the bathroom to take a shower. When he came back out Jeannie was half-asleep on the couch, head slumping on her notebook.

"I don't understand why this has to be so difficult," she moaned.

"Then don't do it," Jack suggested. He looked distastefully at the tree, as if he was figuring out the best way to get rid of it.

"I'm not just talking about this," Jeannie clarified. "I mean _everything_. Why does _everything_ have to be so hard?"

He considered that for a moment. "It doesn't _have_ to be. You just need to have a sense of humor."

Perhaps that was his coping mechanism, Jeannie thought. Jack laughed everything off and although it was usually interpreted as rudeness, making light of situations might be his way of dealing with problems. Of course, he took it to the extreme.

"By the way," she said after a silence," You're an uncle now, you know. Susan had the baby earlier today."

Jack shot her a pointed look. "I guess your parents are just _rushing_ off to see them, right?"

Jeannie nodded. "We won't be able to go to their house for Christmas this year."

"What a shame," he muttered.

"It _is_ a shame," Jeannie insisted. "I was looking forward to an actual dinner."

Jack rolled his eyes; clearly he didn't place the same value on food as she did. "Then steal something from the restaurant."

"Yeah, and get fired when I'm caught? Nice try."

Jeannie knew she was being difficult, but she couldn't help it. Some people might think that being poor and having no one to rely on but the other person was romantic, but it wasn't. If anything, it only drove them further apart.

* * *

Christmas was a quiet affair, with no guests and minimal food. Jeannie gave Jack a new coat, since his old one was torn apart and undoubtedly offered no warmth in the slightest. To her surprise, he gave her something in return: a delicate gold necklace that looked like it was worth the cost of their entire apartment. When Jeannie stared in bewilderment at him, he grinned ruefully and said, "I spent my entire paycheck from last month on that. Just don't wear it around here."

Well, if he could afford an expensive gold necklace, perhaps they weren't as poor as she thought.

* * *

Emily called her three times in a row on New Year's Eve. Jeannie, who had been otherwise engaged with Jack, finally turned her phone off after the twelfth ring. She didn't get back to Emily until early evening, when her friend sounded rather exasperated. "What were you doing? You always answer your phone—"

"Nothing, nothing," Jeannie said quickly, glancing over at Jack. Correctly guessing Emily's question, he smirked lazily and put his arm around her. "So what is it?"

"I was on a date," Emily declared, with no small amount of glee. "I've been seeing him for a while, but today we finally decided to make it official."

"Who is it?"

"His name's Anthony—"

"Don't tell me it's Anthony Reynolds!" Jeannie gasped. Jack's eyes narrowed.

"No," Emily said. "His name is Anthony Garcia. He's seven years older than me but that doesn't really matter, does it?"

"No, of course not," Jeannie reassured her. "What does he do?"

"He's an intern in the mayor's office. He says he wants to become mayor himself someday," Emily gushed. "I can't believe he's actually interested in _me_!"

"I can't either," Jack said loudly.

Jeannie elbowed him in the ribs. "Stop it!" she hissed.

On the other end, Emily sounded affronted. "Is _he_ listening to this?" she asked.

" _Ob_ viously _,_ or I wouldn't be talking right now," Jack drawled.

"Never mind, then," said Emily. Before Jeannie could intervene, there was a click and silence.

"Now see what you've done!" she scolded Jack. "She's probably angry at me now."

It was no secret that Emily disapproved of him, but what could possibly make her _that_ upset? She'd never hung up before, even if Jack was listening to the conversation. Could she know something that Jeannie didn't?


	34. February 2000: Tension

**Two Months Later**

**February 2000**

One afternoon in the middle of February, Jeannie got a call from Mrs. Kerr asking if she and Jack would come to visit that day. Surprised at her mother's insistence, she agreed and promised they would stay for dinner.

The next challenge was persuading Jack himself to go. It took her forty minutes and numerous bribes before he unenthusiastically agreed. Jeannie suspected he was just humoring her and would expect payback someday.

"Do you even know what it's about?" Jack asked as she turned into the Kerrs' driveway.

"No idea." Jeannie switched off the ignition and twirled the key around her finger. "Maybe they have new pictures of David they want to show us."

As it turned out, that wasn't far from the truth. The second she walked in the front door a blue bundle was shoved into her arms by Liam, who looked worn out and completely drained. He was even growing a line of stubble on his chin.

"I didn't know you guys were visiting!" Jeannie accused, looking down at the tiny creature in her arms. David was two months old and, by the looks of it, taking entirely after his paternal family. The tiny tuft of blond hair and bright blue eyes were identical to Liam's, and Jeannie could even recognize the own shape of her nose in her nephew. "He's so _small_ ," she marvelled, trying to hand the baby to Jack, who vehemently refused.

"Isn't he precious?" Susan gushed, kissing her son's forehead. "He was crying for the entire plane ride but as soon as we landed he fell right back asleep."

"Is this why you invited us over, Mom?" Jeannie asked, shooting a glance at Mrs. Kerr who had appeared out of the kitchen.

"Actually, it's not," her mother said with a straight face. "We have some news and we wanted to tell you in person."

Jeannie's eyes widened. "Don't tell me you're having _another_ baby!" she exclaimed.

Mrs. Kerr laughed. "No, of course not—I'm way too old for that. Your father is retiring."

"Already?" Jeannie asked. "But he's only—"

"Fifty-two is old for a police officer, especially in Gotham," Mrs. Kerr explained. "He's been thinking about it for a while and we've decided to move back to Chicago. We've really missed the city, and we'll move close to Liam and Susan so we can help take care of David."

Jeannie's heart sank and she felt the familiar sting of isolation. With her parents gone, she would be completely alone in Gotham. Whatever happened from now on was hers to deal with. "Did you sell the house already?" she asked.

Her mother nodded. "We got quite a good price for it."

"When are you moving out?"

"Hopefully as soon as possible. Your father has one more week of work and then he's officially finished." Mrs. Kerr paused. "Since there are only two of us now, we're obviously going to be downsizing, and that means we have to give some things away. We were thinking of giving our television and kitchen table to you and Jack, if that's all right."

"Yes—that would be wonderful!" Jeannie exclaimed. "We do need new stuff." _Lots of it,_ she thought darkly.

* * *

Much to Jack's exasperation, she volunteered to take David for a walk. He began bawling after an hour into the visit and with Liam was looking like he was about to faint on the spot, someone had to intervene. Susan gladly buckled David up in his stroller and they set off around the neighborhood.

"You didn't have to come, you know," Jeannie teased as she slowly pushed the stroller down the street.

"Actually, I did," Jack answered. "Your parents don't like me, _Jean_ -nie."

She scoffed. "They wouldn't insult you _now_. We've been married for three months."

"I never said I wouldn't insult _them_ ," he replied, smirking. "The feeling is mutual, love."

" _I like you the most when you're angry,"_ he'd said when she first asked him why he called her "love". But surely he knew that it didn't upset her anymore; so why did he still insist on saying it?

" _Jack_ ," groaned Jeannie. "Why do you hate them so much? They never did anything to you. Besides, my dad saved your life."

"Six years ago," Jack pointed out. "He was obligated to do it anyway."

Jeannie paused before asking her next question. "How exactly did he save you?"

"My father was upset he was being interrogated, and I was the only thing around…" Jack trailed off, shrugging nonchalantly. No matter how much he tried to hide it, his childhood beatings had taken a physical, if not emotional, toll on him. His entire body was covered in darkened bruises and scars that would last forever; some worse than others. There were times when he would still cringe away from Jeannie if she touched him a certain way, or when he wasn't expecting it. Neither of them ever acknowledged it out loud, but he had wounds that would never heal.

Jeannie gripped the handles of the stroller tightly and pretended to look down at a now-sleeping David so Jack couldn't see the sadness in her eyes. Something about this entire situation was cruelly ironic: had they been ten years older and lived in a different time, this could be _them_ living in the neighborhood with a newborn son and enjoyable careers. Jack wouldn't need to rely on illegal jobs for money and Jeannie wouldn't need to worry about being assaulted every time she stepped outside. It was an impossible but alluring dream.

"Do you want to push him?" Jeannie asked after a while, breaking the silence. Before Jack could respond with a flat-out no, she quickly added, "At least make yourself useful."

He gave her a _you'll-pay-for-this-later_ look, but reluctantly took hold of a handle. Almost immediately, Jeannie realized that seeing Jack with a baby appealed to her in a strange way. To be fair, he wasn't entirely pushing the stroller (she held one handle and he the other) but it was so easy and wonderful to imagine that this _was_ their baby; that she'd carried and given birth to his child. Jeannie had never particularly liked children (being the youngest in her family, she'd had next to no experience with kids) and she'd never imagined herself as being a mother, but…there was something thrilling about imagining it.

Would Jack be a good father? He might not appear to be on the outside, but perhaps he might show his child some subtle affection, just as he was affectionate to her in private.

But having a baby was impossible now, not to mention selfish and reckless. Jeannie was still in university and they were living in a dangerous place. They would have to wait for a while, but maybe it would be plausible in five or ten years, once they got out of the Narrows.

Her fantasy began to develop the more she thought about it. It would be the opposite of what she'd envisioned with Oliver: they would have a boy first and he would have Jack's brown eyes, but with Jeannie's face to balance it out. Jack would probably draw the line there, but maybe she could get him sufficiently distracted one night and they could have another one…

Her dream was so tempting, in fact, that on the way back home she tried to bring up the topic. "David's really sweet, isn't he?" she asked lightly.

"You didn't seem to like him all that much when he was crying," Jack pointed out.

This wasn't going the way she planned. Jeannie was silent for another minute before she suggested, "It would be nice to have a baby of our own, wouldn't it?"

Jack slammed on the brakes so hard she was thrust back into her seat like a rag doll. "Are you _pregnant_?" he snarled, his dark eyes boring into hers.

"No!" Jeannie cried shrilly. "I was just thinking—maybe one day we could try—"

"We _aren't_ having children, Jeannie," he said adamantly, turning his cold gaze back onto the road.

"I don't mean _now_ ," she argued. "I mean in ten, even fifteen years. We'll be out of the Narrows by then—"

Jack was already shaking his head. "I refuse to live with anyone other than you. I'm not willing to raise a whiny, messy, screaming brat that will undoubtedly be a waste of space. If I wanted something like _that_ I would adopt a monkey. You know why? At least then I can keep it in a _cage._ "

They'd never discussed children before, and Jeannie could already tell they were on opposite sides of the spectrum. "But _I_ want a baby someday," she insisted.

"You have nieces and nephews."

"Yeah, nieces who I won't be able to meet for another twelve years and a nephew who lives halfway across the country!" she cried shrilly. "Just think about it, Jack. Please."

"I _have_ thought about it, and the answer will always be _no_ ," he said firmly. "I didn't marry you so we could start a _family_."

There was nothing she could do to make him change his mind. Although the atmosphere was tense, the remainder of the ride home was totally silent. When they arrived back she expected him to go straight to sleep, but instead he did something very strange. As she tried in vain to fall asleep, Jack simply watched her with an almost calculating look. Just as Jeannie was about to ask what he was doing, he bent over as if to kiss her, his lips hovering an inch over hers. She tried to pull him closer but he abruptly drew away and before she knew what was happening, he had left.

He didn't come back until the next day, where they continued on as if nothing had happened without any mention of the argument. But Jeannie knew this wasn't the end of the issue. In fact, it was only the beginning.


	35. May 2000: Discovery

**Three Months Later**

**May 2000**

Being twenty didn't feel any different from being nineteen, Jeannie decided one day while she daydreamed in class, bored. Sure, she was entering another decade of her life…but wasn't she supposed to feel more intelligent? More mature? More confident?

Maybe if she'd become any smarter, she would be actually _listening_ to the professor instead of letting her mind wander. At this thought she giggled out loud. Jonathan Crane turned around and gave her an icy glare. She smiled widely at him.

Oh, God. She was turning into Jack.

It was a miracle, really, that they were still together. Their fights had by now grown so numerous and trivial, on topics as silly as what to watch on TV or who had to cook dinner. Jeannie had the sense that Jack was almost enjoying the arguments; he _enjoyed_ seeing her furious. When the argument worsened and she got even more upset, he would simply laugh. He laughed at everything now.

However, that didn't mean she'd fallen out of love with him. In fact, it was quite the opposite—the constant fighting seemed to make their relationship grow stronger. It was like Jack would deliberately provoke her to a confrontation, as if to test her temper. Arguing in a normal relationship would signal that something was wrong, but it appeared to be a necessity for Jack. He was _proud_ of Jeannie. He loved it when she fought back.

"Psst!" Emily whispered from the desk beside Jeannie, poking her in the arm. "Class ends in five minutes!"

Jeannie yawned hugely and propped her chin up on her hand, watching the clock slowly tick the time away. In a month she would be halfway finished university. It was a cheerful thought.

But when class was finally dismissed, Emily didn't move right away. Jeannie gave her a quizzical look while she packed up her books. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Emily assured her. "I was just wondering if you wanted to visit Edward sometime."

This was certainly strange. Jeannie hadn't seen him since their project with Jonathan Crane eight months ago. "Um, sure," she said slowly.

"He's been asking about you," replied Emily. "I have no idea why."

Jeannie was about to tell her that Jack probably wouldn't approve of her going to Arkham, but she kept her mouth shut. It wasn't a good idea to talk about him in front of Emily; the other girl had taken a strange, sudden disliking to him. Jeannie had no idea why and neither of them had ever mentioned it.

"How _is_ Edward doing?" she asked on the way to the asylum. "You said he seemed to be getting better…"

"It's up and down," said Emily. "He'll be fine one day and the next he won't even recognize us. He's been in there for years and the staff still haven't made any progress. Mom and Dad told me they think he might be there for the rest of his life."

Jeannie felt a sudden chill travel up her spine. "The rest of his life? Aren't there other places where he could be cured?"

"Not in the country," Emily said sadly. "Arkham is the only criminal asylum left in North America. There's a reputable one in Europe, but even that's not a guaranteed recovery and we can't afford half the price. It's mostly where the wealthy and aristocratic keep the members of their family they want locked up."

Now Jeannie was sorry she'd even brought up the topic. She quickly changed the conversation to school; something much less controversial.

* * *

The guards knew Emily so well by now Jeannie didn't even have to show them her identity card. The building's bulletproof, concrete walls muffled all the noise from outside until it felt like they were completely isolated from the rest of the world.

Edward Nashton was lying on his cot, drawing unrecognizable shapes in the air. He looked up as they approached and, seeing his sister first, pointed an accusing finger at her. "You did it!" he cried frantically. His wild, unfocused eyes spun around the room until he saw Jeannie, at which point he shot up and began to shake his head in obvious distress. "It's Alice!" he shouted. "Why are you here?"

"My name isn't—" Jeannie began.

"It's because you have blonde hair," Emily explained. "Just go with it."

"He hasn't told you!" Edward yelled. "Do you know everything about him?"

"What do you mean?" Jeannie asked, stunned. "Who?"

"Alice didn't fall down the rabbit-hole! The Mad Hatter _pulled_ her in!" Edward struggled to his feet and stared crazily at Jeannie; so hard she felt like she was being sucked into his gaze. "He is mad and doesn't know it! Poor Alice became ensnared in his trap. It's a five-letter synonym for _peril_ , and he represents chaos. Run, Alice, run!"

"He's not making sense," Emily muttered. "Don't listen to him, Jeannie."

"I hear them talking! They think I don't understand them—I know _everything_!" Edward shrieked. He reached out a gnarled hand toward her.

"Who told you this? _Who_?"

"He works for them!" Edward suddenly whispered, chest heaving. "They're giving him money. He _gets rid_ of them."

"Sounds like he's been eavesdropping on too many members of the mob," Emily murmured, but Jeannie was barely paying attention to her. A hazy theory was beginning to form in her mind, something that she'd occasionally speculated about but just as quickly pushed out of her mind, because the thought was too horrible to imagine…

"He can't save you, Alice," Edward said, something like sadness in his voice. "If they want you gone, he won't be able to stop them."

The answer hit Jeannie as hard as if she'd just crashed headfirst into a brick wall. Suddenly, everything made awful, hideous sense.

Jack was a hitman for the mob.

* * *

She drove on autopilot the entire way home, only speaking when absolutely necessary. Emily thought she was simply overwhelmed by Edward's outbursts; but little did she know it was quite the opposite. Ironically, he'd given her the answer she'd needed.

Jeannie wasn't sure whether she should be angry or accepting. She'd known Jack was dabbling in criminal activities for years and of course he'd murdered his own father; but why was it so disturbing to think that he was now murdering for money? She felt suddenly ill as she looked down at her wedding ring—someone had to have been killed in order for Jack to get the money to buy their rings.

"I'm sorry," Emily said, looking guilty. "I didn't mean for him to scare you…"

"No, it's not that. I just—" Another thought struck Jeannie and she turned to Emily in shock. "You knew about Jack all along, didn't you?"

"Knew what?"

"That he…that he…works for the mob." Jeannie could barely get the words out. _That_ was why Emily was staying away from him.

Her friend looked thunderstruck. "You mean _you_ didn't know? Anthony told me…he said he saw Jack with the manager of Gotham National once…"

"So why haven't they arrested him?"

"They haven't proven anything yet." Emily looked hesitant before she spoke again. "I know what he does, Jeannie. I just haven't told anyone. You would be in danger as well if Jack were to be caught. It's better to pretend I don't know anything."

Jeannie was stunned by this revelation; that Emily was going to these lengths to protect _her_. "I…I don't know what to say," she stammered. "Just—thank you. Thank you so much."

"It's no problem, really," Emily said. "These mobsters are infamous; everyone knows who they are but nothing can be proven. The police can't do anything unless evidence is physically brought against them. I have no evidence. Anthony has no evidence. The courts won't listen to suspicious or eyewitness testimonials." She paused. "You're safe for now, Jeannie."

_For now._

* * *

When Jeannie stormed inside the apartment, she found Jack already home and sitting at the table looking irate. When he saw her he immediately stood up and strode over, blocking her path. "Where _were_ you?" he snapped. "It's nearly eight o'clock!"

"Says the one who never gets home until three AM!" Jeannie retorted. "If you _must_ know, I was at Arkham visiting Edward. He told me some _very_ interesting things about you."

"Like what?" Jack hissed, glaring down at her.

"Like the fact you _kill people for a living_. You're damn clever for lying to me about your _other_ job, Jack, because if I had known about it before the wedding we wouldn't be married right now!"

At this point, he would usually start laughing or try to provoke her even more. But this time there was no trace of amusement in his eyes. "So you're going to _divorce_ me?" he whispered, voice low and dangerous.

"It's too late now, isn't it!" she exclaimed. "For God's _sake_ , Jack, I can't believe I married a murderer! How am I supposed to wait for you at night knowing that someone is dying because of you—I just—I _can't_ —"

She was spinning in circles now, trying to find an escape route. She had to get away from Jack, she needed to be on her own…but there was nowhere in the apartment she could run to, nowhere she could hide—

Jeannie was so agitated she wasn't thinking straight, and didn't consider the consequences of what could happen if she acted on impulse. But she had to get _out_ somehow, and there was only one door available. Jack was still standing in front of her, frozen. She briefly wondered why he wasn't moving if he had such good reflexes, but she didn't dwell on the matter for very long. So Jeannie did the only thing she felt she _could_ do—she fled.

* * *

The Narrows at night were split into two sections: the loud, raucous part, where people flooded the streets and staggered out of nightclubs drunk and high. If an unsuspecting person wasn't raped or shot by an inebriated partier, they were hit by a rogue driver.

The other part of the neighborhood was the exact opposite; but no less unsafe. Here there was no loud noise, no parties. The streets and alleys were nearly deserted, but if someone _did_ happen to bearound, no one would hear the screaming.

It was in this part of the city that Diana Grant had been raped and abducted by Paul Napier two decades ago; and it was where their son now lived. Jack had never gone back to the building where he was born and where he'd spent the first five years of his life, although it wasn't too far from his current home. He saw no reason to; what happy memories did he have there?

Jeannie knew she had made a mistake as soon as she stepped into the street, but there was no going back now. Would Jack follow her? She hoped not.

Drawing the hood on her sweater tightly up over her head, she kept her eyes on the road. _Don't make eye contact,_ her father always warned her if she ever happened to be in a situation with potentially dangerous people. _Blend into the background._

Jeannie heard footsteps sounding quietly behind her and she increased her pace as well, her pulse quickening with each step.

When she rounded the first corner, everything happened in quick succession. Something grabbed her by the collar and pulled her forward. Jeannie lost her balance and fell to the ground, rolling into the middle of the road where she scrambled to dive out of the way of a passing car. She had just enough time to make out the shape of a huge, hulking man advancing on her before something silver flew past her head, and she thought stupidly of a bird attacking them.

But it wasn't a bird—it was a knife, and it caught the man straight in the chest. He howled in pain and slumped to the ground, blood pouring out of the wound and congealing in a puddle on the sidewalk. The knife pierced the wall behind him, vibrating slightly from the impact. Whoever had thrown it did it with such force that it had gone straight _through_ its target.

Jeannie whirled around and let out a muffled scream as the knife-thrower hauled her unceremoniously to her feet and clapped a hand over her mouth. " _Shut up_ ," Jack whispered in her ear. Ignoring her frenzied attempts to wrestle free, he dragged her over to the building and pulled the knife out of the wall, wiping it on the ground before sticking it back in its pocket.

The man he'd attacked was somehow still alive, jerking and twitching on the pavement. He let out a low moan of pain and his eyeballs moved wildly in their sockets, ultimately focusing on Jeannie. Jack stuck out his foot and stepped hard on the man's neck. With a loud crack as the bones broke, he finally stopped moving.

At the last, horrific sound, Jeannie felt her legs collapse from under her. She gripped onto Jack for support who easily swung her up into his arms, carrying her like a child. Tears began to run down her face and she gasped uncontrollably as she tried to process what had just happened.

Jack didn't say another word on the way back to their apartment, despite Jeannie's half-gurgled attempts to form words. She finally let go of him once they were safely back inside and walked slowly to the bedroom, making sure she'd regained her balance.

When she reached the bed she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and felt even worse. She was caked in dirt and filth. The arm she'd fallen on was covered in scratches.

"I'm not going to divorce you, Jack," she said shakily when her voice returned. "I can't divorce you. It would kill me. I don't care that we fight. I don't care that sometimes we fucking hate each other. I can learn to not care that your work for the goddamn _mob._ All I know is that I love you too much to leave. You're a terrible influence on me. I'm even starting to _act_ like you!" She was half-laughing, half-crying as she stared pathetically up at him. "But I can't leave you. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did. You're killing me, Jack."

He watched her for another moment before abruptly taking her face in his hand and roughly pulling her toward him. " _Now_ you understand why your parents hate me," he growled. "They knew I would eventually change you. You were the only one who didn't listen."

"Stop, Jack," she moaned. "I know that. I know."

He was destroying her and they both knew it. But Jeannie wondered if she was somehow destroying him as well.


	36. September 2000: Defiance

**Four Months Later**

**September 2000**

It figured that the first time Jeannie had a good sleep in ages, it would to be interrupted by the phone. At first she turned over and tried to ignore it, but after a moment of silence it began ringing shrilly again.

"Don't you ever turn that fucking thing _off_?" Jack grumbled, opening one eye and glaring at her accusingly.

"I didn't expect anyone to call me at two in the morning!" Jeannie protested. She flipped the phone open and tried to inject as much disapproval as she could into her voice. "Hel- _lo_?"

"Jeannie, it's George," a crackly, worried voice replied. "Becky was in a car accident and she's been rushed to the hospital. I'm sorry for calling you so late—"

"No, it's fine," Jeannie said, suddenly wide awake. "How bad was the accident? Will she be all right?"

"The doctors think she'll live," George replied. "I don't know how bad the damage is. She might be paralyzed for life."

"Oh," Jeannie breathed. "Okay. Thanks for telling me."

There was a click as George hung up and Jeannie threw the phone onto the bed, deliberating. "What happened?" Jack said.

"Becky's been in an accident," she explained. "I don't know if she'll be fine or not. I might have to go over there for a week or so."

"It'll have to wait. I have a job I need to do," Jack said. Seeing the look on her face, he rolled his eyes. "Not _that_ kind of job, tiger. It's a chemical experiment that I gotta finish—"

"Who said _you_ were coming?" Jeannie asked. "I can go by myself."

"Not now, you aren't. Your sister doesn't need you right now."

"Yes, she does!" complained Jeannie. "What's your problem, anyway?"

"You're not going by yourself."

"I'm _twenty_ , not two! I don't need your permission to go anywhere!" she argued.

"You are _not_ going," Jack hissed. "Do you realize that the mob has connections everywhere? They'll think you're an easy target if they see you alone."

She was about to retort, but stopped mid-sentence. Was her safety the only reason Jack was resisting, or was there something else at play? What was his ultimatum?

"Jack, I'll be fine," she said. "Nothing will be wrong."

"You're not going," he replied, a note of finality in his voice. Jeannie opened her mouth to object, but he merely turned over and went back to sleep.

She lay awake for the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, boiling with rage and frustration. How dare he say something like that when there were times _he_ was gone for days! Granted, he hadn't been away for a while, but that didn't excuse him. This was her _family_ she was talking about. Jack didn't understand families— _she_ was his only family.

But she could still do whatever she wanted.

Even if that meant disobeying him.

* * *

Jack always left for work earlier than she did. Jeannie curled up in bed pretending to be asleep while he got ready, and then, when she heard the front door close behind him at last, she waited for another ten minutes to make sure he'd really gone before creeping out of bed.

He would be angry when he got home. So, so angry. But she couldn't just sit around and wait for news while her sister was in the hospital. She hadn't been as close with her family as she had wanted to be in the past years. If Jack punished her—so be it.

Jeannie packed a set of clothes and makeup into a small suitcase and swung it over her shoulder, satisfied. Like she'd told Jack, she would only be gone for a week at the most. It wasn't as if she was planning to permanently move there.

Before she left the apartment, she scribbled a note and placed it on the table:

_Gone to L.A. to see Becky. Will be back ASAP. Despite what you may think, I'll be fine._

_-Jeannie_

When she stepped outside into the cool, drizzly morning, she was faced with another problem: how would she get to the airport? It seemed only fair to leave Jack the car, and she was too far away to walk…

After much deliberation, Jeannie finally decided to take a taxi. The drivers generally were easier on people who lived in the Narrows, and she had just gotten her paycheck. Hopefully it would be enough for the cost of the taxi ride and the round trip airfare.

Luckily, she had a sympathetic driver: he took pity on her and made her pay only half of the regular fare. She thanked him profusely and climbed out of the car, feeling a strong sense of trepidation. How badly would Jack react when he came home? Would he shout or laugh? Sometimes his laughter was worse than his shouting.

She kept glancing back over her shoulder as she entered the airport, shifting impatiently from foot to foot while she stood in line. She wanted to be up in the air and safely away as soon as possible.

The price of the tickets was absolutely astronomical—she guessed the costs rose exponentially each year—but she counted out her money with painstaking accuracy, feeling disheartened as she watched over half of it disappear.

But finally, after fifteen minutes of nervous anticipation, she was on the plane and they were disappearing into the clouds, leaving the gloomy, grey city behind.

* * *

When she arrived in Los Angeles several hours later, Jeannie was consumed with anxiety—anxiety for her sister, Jack, and herself. She'd second-guessed her spontaneity for the entire flight and now she was beginning to wish she'd stayed behind.

George picked her up from the airport and drove her to his house, explaining that her parents were already there. Rebecca's surgery had gone well, he said, but she still couldn't move her legs.

The basic story was that a drunk driver had run a red light and driven straight into her. The police had caught him and he was facing charges; but seeing as how he was a minor celebrity their biggest problem at the moment was keeping everything under wraps.

With Rebecca still unconscious there was no point in going to the hospital, so they went to the Rileys' house instead. She and George lived in a small, albeit cozy, bungalow just streets away from the ocean. Mr. and Mrs. Kerr greeted Jeannie warmly as soon as they arrived and she hugged her parents happily, relieved to see them again.

"How's Chicago?" she asked. "Do you like your new house?"

"It's wonderful," Mrs. Kerr gushed. "We really, really missed that city."

"How is Gotham?" her father hesitantly questioned.

"The same," Jeannie said. "Believe me when I say that nothing has changed."

"Where's Jack? I thought you two were inseparable," said Mrs. Kerr.

Jeannie winced. "He had to work," she answered hollowly.

Her flat tone and pained face were obvious warning signs for her mother, who knew her expressions inside and out. "How about we go for a walk, Jeannie?" she asked gently.

Jeannie was cheered by the prospect of receiving some helpful advice, and so wasted no time in leaving. Mrs. Kerr pointed out a path that led to the beach, and after a short walk through a wooded area the seemingly infinite expanse of the sparkling azure ocean spread out before them.

The blazing sun burned onto the sand as they walked leisurely along the beach. Los Angeles felt like a breath of fresh air to Jeannie after being trapped for months in the claustrophobic, suffocating mass of people and buildings that was Gotham.

"So, what's the problem, sweetie?" Mrs. Kerr asked, and Jeannie immediately recounted the events of that morning.

"I don't understand what his problem is," she finished. "He's allowed to go wherever he wants, but _I'm_ not?"

"He's become obsessive," her mother answered straight away. "He doesn't want you out of his sight."

"You mean he's so in love he can't stand to be away from me for more than a few days?"

Mrs. Kerr smiled wryly. "I'm afraid it's not that romantic. When someone like Jack has an abusive and emotionally traumatizing childhood, it more often than not dictates their relationships in later life. Jack had no friends growing up, no pets, nothing but himself. When a person like him marries or even falls in love they soon become very possessive. Their partner becomes _everythin_ g—literally a replacement for everything they missed out on in earlier life—to them. As a result, they like to feel that they're in control and they "own" their partner, for lack of a better word. I'm not saying Jack's become so dependent he can barely function without you, but if what you say is true then he's definitely beginning to exhibit obsessive behaviors. You might not have realized it, Jeannie—and perhaps even _he_ hasn't even realized it—but over the years he's let you in to a point where you'll never be able to escape. That's why I wanted to make sure you didn't rush into the marriage—like it or not, he's never going to let go of you."

"And what if I leave?" Jeannie asked, keeping her eyes fixed on a surfer riding a distant wave. "What will he do then?"

"I don't know," her mother said quietly. "But I imagine it wouldn't be very pleasant."

* * *

To say Jack was furious when he read Jeannie's note would be the understatement of the year.

No, the _century_.

He shook with anger as he crumpled the paper up into a ball and dropped it into the garbage can. How _dare_ she leave him on his own. It was so defiant; so obstinate. So annoyingly _Jeannie_.

Jack wanted to yell at her. He wanted to threaten her and he wanted to shake her until she understood _exactly_ how angry she'd made him. But at the same time, he wanted to _laugh_. It was proof that she _did_ have some fight in her; that she wouldn't obey his every command. He liked it— _loved_ it, even. Jack tired quickly of people who were intimidated by him; they squeaked like mice and would do anything to save themselves. It was so… _boring_.

But she would never do that. It was what he liked about her. During times like these, though, it infuriated him to the point he could barely see straight.

Now she was on the opposite coast, thousands of miles away from Gotham. Jack walked into the bedroom and gritted his teeth when he saw her things missing. "You wanna play, tiger?" he muttered. "Then let's _play_."

* * *

Although Rebecca seemed to be getting better and showed no signs of amnesia, it was determined that her legs were completely paralyzed and she would have to use a wheelchair for the rest of her life. Jeannie marveled at her sister's fearlessness; Becky was just happy she'd survived the crash. Mrs. Kerr burst into tears when she heard the news and Mr. Kerr tried to comfort her, but it was obvious he was every bit as upset.

When Jeannie couldn't take her parents' grief anymore, she headed back to the house on her own. She was just about to turn the knob on the front door when it was yanked open from inside. When she saw the person standing there, she gasped out loud. " _Jack_! How—what are you doing here?"

"Hello, _love_ ," he said mockingly. "Thought you could just leave like that, didn't you?"

"What? No—didn't you get my note? I was just visiting my family!"

"Do you know how I got here?" he asked. He continued without waiting for a reply. "They have the address of every single member of your family. The mob doesn't take things lightly, _Jean_ -nie."

She immediately looked behind her, half-expecting to see men patrolling the street. "Are we not safe?"

Jack shrugged. "Depends on your definition of 'safe'. But you have to understand that you can't leave like that again." He gripped her arm so tightly it hurt and she felt something briefly press against her wrist. "There's no way I'm letting them touch you."

Jeannie nodded, suddenly terrified. "Aren't you mad at me?"

"I was when I saw that _pathetic_ excuse for a note. You're lucky it took me five hours to arrive here—now, where's your stuff?"

"Why? Are we going to hide?" she asked, struggling to twist away from him.

"No—we're going back to Gotham for now." He finally let go of her, and she caught a glimpse of the object that had been pressing into her wrist.

A knife.


	37. July 2001: Need

**Ten Months Later**

**July 2001**

If she had one more bad day at work Jeannie swore she would quit her job. She had been working at the same restaurant for over five years and her manager _still_ had the gall to treat her like she was sixteen.

Muttering a string of curses under her breath, she climbed out of the car and shook her fist at the sky. She was sick of everything: sick of studying, sick of working ridiculous shifts, sick of living in poverty. Whatever dreams she'd had of happiness were now mere delusions.

Alas, the day wasn't over yet. Another three hours of consciousness was another three hours where an unlimited number of things could go wrong.

She opened the front door to inhale the tangy, pungent stench of smoke. Throwing her purse on the floor, she looked up and saw Jack with a smoking cigarette between his fingers. "Thought you'd never get home, _Jean_ -nie," he said idly.

She couldn't believe her eyes. "Why would you take up smoking?"

"I'm not," he said, responding with his own disparaging look. Seeming oblivious to her irritation, he flicked the stub out the window and brushed the dirt off his hands. "But I have to admit it is a very… _relaxing_ habit."

"Like hell it is," Jeannie snapped. "You are not smoking in here."

His eyes narrowed. "Whose apartment is it again?"

" _Ours_ ," she said furiously. "I've lived here for almost two years!"

"And yet," he replied languidly, "I don't recall you contributing anything towards the rent."

Jeannie's anger, which had been steadily building up since the start of the day, finally boiled over. "Why would I even _want_ to pay a cent? You should have gotten this thing for free, because it's complete _shit!_ Do you realize how many spiders I've killed and how many times I've had to listen to your neighbors scream bloody murder—not to mention the tiny rooms and the disgusting, polluted water! I can't—I can't live another _day_ in this place!"

"Then _go_ ," he said dangerously. "Run away, Jeannie. It's not like I thought you'd stay here for long."

"So what am I, a _plaything_? Something to toy with when you get _bored?_ If that's the case, then why did you marry me? Why not just fuck me whenever you feel like it and not bother with the _formalities_?"

He hadn't told her he loved her since he first proposed, and for a split second when he opened his mouth she thought he would. But this was no happily-ever-after, and Jack was no Prince Charming. "What am _I_?" he retorted. "All _you've_ done is _complain_. You were only ever interested because you thought you looked really good, didn't you, making friends with the _outcast_."

"That's not true!" Jeannie cried. "I _loved_ you, for God's sake. I still love you."

"Well, you sure don't _act_ like it," he hissed.

"Look who's talking! You act like you don't give a shit about me half the time, and the other half you're laughing at my problems! Excuse me for thinking that I'm not worth much."

"Do I look like I would stay if I didn't want to?" he asked. "If I didn't want to be here I would have left months ago."

"Well, I—"

"Then why haven't _you_ left?"

"I would leave," Jeannie whispered, injecting as much venom as she could into her voice, "but you wouldn't be able to function without me!"

That was _definitely_ the wrong thing to say. Jack's eyes grew dark, and suddenly Jeannie found herself pinned against the wall, his hands tight on her shoulders. "Who. Told. You. _That?_ " he growled.

There was no way Jeannie would sell her mother out, so she put on her best confident face and said as bravely as she could, "No one. It was obvious enough."

That was an even _worse_ thing to say. His hand briefly disappeared and she thought he would release her, but just as she relaxed the cold edge of a knife dug into her throat.

All traces of bravado disappeared and Jeannie could do nothing but stare helplessly at him. He hadn't pulled a knife on her since they were in Los Angeles nearly a year ago, but that had only been to stop her from running away. This was a _threat_ , and there was true rage in his eyes.

After a long, agonizing moment, he abruptly dropped the knife and it clattered to the ground. Jeannie couldn't read the look in his eyes. Taking advantage of his hesitation, Jeannie pushed herself off of the wall and scurried into the bedroom, where she climbed into bed, pulled the covers up over her head and didn't move for a long time.

* * *

Like she knew it would, her exhaustion ultimately got the better of her and she eventually fell asleep. When she next woke up, the room was still pitch black. Jack's side of the bed was cold and his pillow untouched.

But a sliver of light shone through the crack underneath the bathroom door and it was standing ajar. Hesitantly, Jeannie sat up and stared at it, thinking. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw what looked like a red stain on the door.

After several minutes of deliberation, her curiosity finally got the better of her and she crawled out of bed, tiptoeing toward the door. She reached her hand out and touched the red stain with her finger. It came back wet.

Blood.

When the door creaked open and light flooded the room she had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out loud.

The entire bathroom was splattered in blood, dripping off the counter and smeared on the walls. The harsh crimson color against the stark white of the walls gave it a horror-movie feel. It looked like someone had been pacing the room like a caged animal, and dragging themselves through every corner.

Jack was bent over the sink, head bowed and his hair clinging to his neck in damp ringlets. His shaking right hand clutched a bloody knife and he was spitting globs of blood into the basin.

What had he _done_ to himself? As Jeannie watched in horror, he turned his head toward her and she would be forever haunted by the image of what he looked like in that moment for the rest of her life.

When he was hurt while they were in Chicago, his scars had reopened only partway—enough to draw plenty of blood; but this was far, far worse. He had slashed his face open even wider, so the scars nearly reached his cheekbones. If he had looked menacing before, he now looked like a clown from hell.

As Jeannie struggled not to scream, he leaned heavily onto the counter and his knuckles turned white as he tried to stay standing. The only sounds coming out of his throat were muffled gurgles.

Hands shaking, she reached out for him and pried his fingers loose from the knife. She wiped the blood on a towel and stuck it into her own pocket. Jack tried to open his mouth, but this only caused even more blood to gush out of his face. "Stop it," Jeannie ordered. "I'm going to take you to the hospital."

With surprising strength, he dug his fingers into her arm and made a shaking motion with his head. "I can't fix you, Jack," she said. "What do you want me to do?"

He shrugged, but it was obvious he was in severe pain. Jeannie propped him up on the counter and soaked all the towels they owned with water so she could wipe the blood off his face. He didn't resist and with his face turning increasingly paler she wondered if he was going into shock from loss of blood.

 _Why would he go so far to cut himself open?_ she wondered as she dragged the towel over his face. Was he taking his anger out of himself instead of her?

* * *

Jeannie was no nurse, but she had watched enough late-night television to know what she should do. She felt like she was taking care of an invalid as she washed every last drop of blood from his skin and dressed him in clean clothes. Jack didn't try to speak the entire time, even when she was putting rubbing alcohol on his cuts (something that would have elicited screaming from a normal person). After she had bandaged his injuries and he didn't look like he needed the emergency room anymore, she guided him to bed. His eyes, which had been flickering open and closed erratically the entire time, finally shut in defeat.

Some time later, he fell asleep with his head still on her lap. Jeannie watched the lines on his forehead smooth out and relax, his face peaceful for once. She felt her eyes beginning to tear as she gently pressed her lips to his scarred mouth.

She had said that he wouldn't be able to function without her; but deep down she knew it was _her_ who couldn't live without him.


	38. November 2001: Funeral

**Four Months Later**

**November 2001**

To Jeannie's mild embarrassment, it took her the better part of the day before she realized it was her anniversary. She and Jack had been married two years.

Funny, it didn't _feel_ like two years. Time had moved in odd jumps, quick spurts, and slow drags. Jeannie was no longer a naïve nineteen-year-old, but a twenty-one-year-old legal adult. However, she didn't quite feel like an adult either. She still felt trapped, like a butterfly aching to spread its wings. She supposed that some things never _did_ change.

Her relationship with Jack was back to being relatively normal…for now, at least. Neither of them had ever mentioned the incident back in July, but Jeannie kept a closer eye on him just in case. He hadn't gone out on a "job" for months but she was still apprehensive he wasn't telling her everything.

Now that she knew it was their anniversary, she wondered if she should plan anything special. What _could_ she do? Take him out to dinner using her nonexistent spare change? Buy him a gift, using, again, money she didn't have?

But before she could think of something reasonably affordable, the front door swung open and Jack came in, grinning from ear to ear. "I got you something," he said cryptically, indicating the cardboard box he held under one arm.

Jeannie frowned suspiciously. "You got me something? Why?"

"It's our anni- _ver_ -sary, isn't it?" He gave her a smug, see-I-remembered look and dropped the box on the floor. When Jeannie continued looking wary, he rolled his eyes and pushed her toward it. "Go on. It won't kill you."

Hesitantly, she dropped to her knees and lifted the flaps open, bracing herself for some kind of prank. But her hand only came into contact with something soft and furry. Jeannie let out a startled shriek of surprise as the thing inside it moved and she realized she was staring at a tiny, black puppy that was shivering in fear.

"A _dog?"_ she asked incredulously. "Where did you get it?"

"Someone dumped it into the street," Jack replied without a hint of pity. "I can take it back if you don't want it—"

"No, don't!" she nearly yelled, unable to bear the thought of him dumping an innocent, helpless puppy into the middle of a busy road. Jeannie could turn a blind eye to Jack killing humans who had done awful things, but she drew the line at animals. "How are we going to afford food for it, though?"

"With money?" he asked sarcastically. "We're not dirt-poor, _Jean_ -nie. How do you think I could afford that necklace?" He reached out and tugged her golden necklace that he'd given her as a present during their first Christmas together.

"You mean _you_ ' _re_ not poor," she corrected. "You make twice as much as me last time I checked."

"Take as much of it as you want, then," he said carelessly. "I don't need the money."

Jeannie's jaw dropped. "You're telling me this _now?_ I thought we kept our incomes separate!"

Jack laughed at her indignant expression. "Well, now you know."

Feeling relieved, she turned back to the puppy. It whimpered at her touch and she gently lifted up the squirming body, hugging it to her chest. A pair of inquisitive brown eyes looked up at her and a tiny stub of a tail wagged faintly. Jeannie could tell by its enormous paws that this was no Chihuahua—it would grow up to be massive.

"What breed is it?" she asked.

Jack shrugged. "Rottweiler, I think."

"Aren't they supposed to be vicious?"

"Does that thing look vicious to you?" He indicated the puppy, which was currently snuggling into Jeannie's arms.

"I suppose you're right," she said. "I suppose if we can train it properly it should be fine…is it a boy or a girl?"

"Boy," Jack mumbled.

Jeannie smiled. "We can name him Roscoe!" Seeing Jack's blank look, she explained, "It was the name of a stuffed dog I had when I was little."

She couldn't believe she actually had a pet. All those years of staring in envy as her friends bought dogs and cats and even fish, while all she had were toys, were finally gone. Now, she'd gotten an animal when she least expected it.

"Thank you, Jack," she said, standing up so she could kiss him. "Happy anniversary."

"Don't get all emotional," he warned, but deepened the kiss readily enough.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Jeannie thought happily, _See, we're not_ always _fighting._

* * *

It soon became clear that keeping a dog was not as easy as it seemed. Roscoe whined, paced, begged and barked every time he was left alone. Jack refused to let him sleep in the bedroom, so Jeannie often had to calm the puppy down at night. When they were gone during the day he would chew, rip and tear everything in sight until the apartment looked like a tornado had swept through it.

One day a week after they'd gotten him, Jeannie was staring idly out the window, lost in thought, when there was a loud, impatient knock on the door.

Jack, who was eating lunch with a fervour found only in men, sighed in exasperation and threw the door open. It revealed a hunchbacked, wrinkled old lady with blonde permed hair and a dress patterned with flowers. She carried a tabby cat in her arms. At the sight of the other animal, Roscoe began fidgeting madly and nearly had a fit. It took all of Jeannie's strength to hold him back.

"Hello, Mr. Napier," the woman said crisply. "I've had numerous complaints about that animal. Did you not know that pets are prohibited in this building?"

Jack looked like he was readying himself for a confrontation, so Jeannie quickly spoke up. "I'm sorry, ma'am," she said politely. "He got me this puppy because I've never had a pet before, so I'm just trying to figure things out…I'll train him, I promise."

At the sight of Jeannie, the lady's face softened. "I've never seen you before," she remarked. "Who are you?"

"His wife," Jeannie said. "We've been married for two years."

The lady looked even more surprised. "Really?" she asked. "I guess I should keep track of the people who live in this building…" Ignoring Jack completely, she tried to smile at Jeannie. "As long as you keep that dog quiet, I'll turn a blind eye to it. Just make sure to train it quickly."

"I promise, ma'am," Jeannie said. The old lady slowly shuffled away, muttering to herself. The second Jack slammed the door behind her, she asked, "Who was that?"

"Mrs. Burkiss," Jack muttered. "The landlady. I've only seen her once since I moved here. She's gone senile."

"She seemed nice to me," Jeannie teased.

"She feels sorry for you," said Jack. "Since you're stuck with me." He grinned.

A car zoomed by on the street outside and Roscoe let out an earth-shattering bark, wriggling out of Jeannie's arms to sprint to the window and howl.

"Should we take him for a walk?" Jeannie asked. "I have a feeling the neighbours will be running in with guns soon."

"Fine," said Jack, shoving the last of his sandwich into his mouth and tossing Jeannie her coat.

* * *

It was a cold November day, and the wind was harsh and unforgiving. Jeannie imagined it was even worse down by the water, where there were no buildings to block to the wind. She stayed close to Jack and he kept one arm protectively around her as they headed through the Narrows.

Roscoe trotted ahead of them, Jeannie holding on tightly to his leash. Emily's dog, Apollo, had died the month before and she'd given Jeannie his old leash. She had a feeling she would be getting a lot of Apollo's old things, which would luckily save them money on toys and food.

On their way past an abandoned park Jeannie spotted a harassed-looking woman with two little girls standing on a street corner. One of the girls began jumping up and down, excitedly pointing at Roscoe. The woman tried to stop her but she went tearing toward them anyway, skidding to a stop and squealing when Roscoe started barking wildly and jumping at her.

"Roscoe, _stop_ ," Jeannie said firmly, yanking him back. The girl, however, didn't seem deterred: she stuck out her hand and patted him on the head, ignoring his attempts to lick her face.

The other woman, presumably her grandmother, had reached them by now with the other girl following behind. Jeannie looked back and forth between them: the two girls were definitely identical twins. They had the same light brown hair pulled back into ponytails and their blue eyes were the same wide, round shape. Something about their faces rang a bell with Jeannie: she'd definitely never seen them before, but they looked uncomfortably familiar. Maybe she knew their relatives?

"I am _so_ sorry," the woman apologized profusely. "She gets a little bit out of hand sometimes—Margie, don't run away like that!"

"Sorry," the girl said, though she didn't look the least bit sincere.

Her twin peered out from behind the woman's coat and asked shyly, "Can I pet him?"

"Sure," said Jeannie, and soon both girls were fussing over Roscoe.

"Would you happen to know where the funeral parlor is?" the woman asked. "I've been wandering around here for at least an hour and I'm beginning to get worried…there are so many strange people around here." She looked up at Jack and, seeing his scars, immediately looked embarrassed.

"There's one about two streets away, on Cicero," Jeannie said in an attempt to break the sudden tension. "I can show you the way, if you want."

"Yes, please," the woman said, relieved, though she glanced more than a little nervously at Jack. "I'm Mary, and this is Alice and Margaret."

Jeannie froze. "Alice and Margaret?" she choked. Suddenly, everything fell into place. "You're Mary Sharpe?"

"Yes," she said suspiciously. "Do you know me from somewhere?"

"I'm Jeannie. Harriet Kerr's younger sister," she explained, looking over again at the twins. Now the resemblance made sense. They were a perfect mixture of both their parents.

Mrs. Sharpe's face lit up. "What a coincidence! Jeannie Kerr!" She shook her hand enthusiastically, as if they were meeting all over again.

"Jeannie _Napier_ ," Jack growled. Jeannie shot him a warning look.

"Whose funeral are you going to, if you don't mind me asking?" she inquired.

Mrs. Sharpe frowned. "You mean you haven't heard? It's terribly sad…the girls don't know about it. We decided not to tell them the truth until they were older, but I still thought they should come…he was killed three days ago, you know."

"Who?"

"Zach Collingwood."

* * *

The funeral parlor was crowded with at least a hundred people, all with miserable looks on their faces. Mrs. Sharpe made her husband, who had already arrived, stay outside with the twins and Roscoe. Jeannie wasn't sure how she should feel about the whole occasion. She had never liked Zach; but she didn't want him dead either. Everyone was whispering about how it was suspected to be a mob-related death. Jeannie instantly questioned Jack, but he insisted he had no idea about what had happened.

After several minutes of standing awkwardly in the doorway, Jeannie let go of Jack's hand and ventured to the front, where a wooden coffin lay open on display.

Zach looked arrogant even in death, his eyebrows creasing in a self-important way. He was dressed in a black suit and his arms were folded over his chest. Jeannie remembered sitting at the dinner table while he was meeting her family; how she'd been so bored that she'd begged to go for a walk. That was where she'd gotten lost in the woods and Jack had rescued her. " _Jack and Jill fell down the hill_ ," she whispered, and her lips curved in a wry smile. She imagined Jack as he'd looked that night, with the black eye and numerous scrapes. " _Haven't you ever heard of that one?"_

"Yes, but your joke isn't funny," she'd snapped, annoyed.

Strange, how long ago that seemed. Like it was in a different life entirely.

Someone accidentally nudged her, and she fell forward, only to steady herself on the edge of the coffin. Her hand brushed Zach's skin, which felt rubbery and was ice cold. She shuddered and wiped her hand on her coat, as if that would rub the unseen dirt away.

"Fancy seeing you here, Jeannie," a deep voice said from behind her. She turned to see a smiling Bruce Wayne, looking as if he had been there all along.

He'd definitely aged well—his face had grown even more handsome. Although he was still a young man, there were traces of surprising maturity in his eyes that she supposed had always been there. "Hello, Mr. Wayne," she stammered. "It's been nearly four years. I can't believe you still remember me."

"How could I forget the girl who I _still_ owe a dinner date?" he teased. Then he looked around and his smile disappeared. "I shouldn't be making jokes on such a solemn occasion. Forgive me."

His sudden solemnity made Jeannie chuckle. "Were you a close friend of Zach's?"

Bruce shook his head. "I never met him in person, actually. His father worked for Wayne Enterprises a number of years ago. I wanted to come pay my respects."

"Do you know how he died?" said Jeannie. Her heart sank when Bruce shook his head.

"I heard it had something to do with the mob, though. It's beginning to get out of control here…" He drifted off thoughtfully but snapped back to attention with a start. "Have you come with anyone today?"

"My husband, Jack," she answered, nodding her head at Jack, who was standing against the opposite wall with his hood pulled up, shielding his face. "I don't believe he ever met Zach either."

"He certainly looks like a cheerful guy," Bruce joked, indicating his detached position. They both laughed, and Jeannie was about to ask him what he was doing back in Gotham when someone called his name. With a mock-irritated eyeroll and a quick wave goodbye, he melted into the crowd.

Jeannie took one more look at Zach's body before heading back to Jack. "I wonder if Harriet will be upset," she murmured.

"Probably. She loved him once, didn't she?" asked Jack, showing unusual interest in someone else.

"But she's engaged now," said Jeannie. "I don't think she's thought about Zach since the twins were born."

"That kind of thing doesn't go away, tiger," Jack replied. "Now she can never see him again even if she wants to. Death is permanent."

Jeannie was briefly surprised by his uncharacteristic insight, but soon brushed it off. Years later, when she looked back on that night, she would marvel about how eerily prophetic his comment would turn out to be.


	39. January 2002: Scheme

**Two Months Later**

**January 2002**

Jeannie dreaded ten-hour shifts. They were the bane of her existence—she was always so exhausted by the end of them she could barely move. Ten hours of juggling plates, repeating the menu over and over again, and dealing with meager tips was not her idea of a satisfying job.

To top things off, it was a bitterly cold day in January and her car had refused to start, so she'd had no choice but to walk to work. By the time she got inside the mercifully heated restaurant, she was already considering turning around and heading right back home. But she had to work that day—there was a nasty flu going around and over half of the employees were ill, so they would be even more understaffed if she skipped her shift.

When she reluctantly trudged into the kitchen she was immediately flagged down by her manager, a constantly frazzled man named Lester. "Jeannie!" he called, bustling over to her. "I have something I want to give you."

She tied her apron around her waist and looked up at him, confusion showing plainly on her face. Lester dabbed his forehead with a napkin and said, "I want to thank you for coming in today. You've always been one of my hardest workers and I don't believe I've ever thanked you properly." He dug in his pocket and brought out a piece of paper. "Listen, a couple of weeks ago I won a contest at the Ritz for a two-night stay but I don't need it…I figured you and your husband could use a vacation more than me."

Jeannie's eyes widened. The Ritz was the fanciest hotel in Gotham; even Susan's wealthy family couldn't afford it. It was for the likes of billionaires such as Bruce Wayne; not a poor, working girl who could barely afford groceries. "You don't need to do this, sir," she choked, numbly taking the slip of paper. "It's very kind of you—"

"If anyone deserves it, it's you, Jeannie," Lester said, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

She watched him walk away, still stunned. He'd always been condescending to her, but perhaps he wasn't as haughty as she'd always thought he was.

When she looked over at the calendar she saw the date was January twelfth. With a jolt of surprise Jeannie remembered tomorrow was Jack's twenty-second birthday. That would be perfect—she could book the hotel stay as a present.

Feeling much more cheerful about her shift, Jeannie grabbed a platter of food and headed off to serve the first customers.

* * *

She didn't tell Jack that night, deciding instead to keep it a surprise. When he wasn't paying attention, she called Emily and asked if she would be able to look after Roscoe that weekend. Emily agreed and Jeannie hung up feeling even more enthusiastic.

After Jack left for work the next day, she began to pack her things into a purse: an extra set of clothes, makeup, a hair brush, and the birth control pills she'd been taking religiously for the past three years. Roscoe followed her as she moved from room and room, wagging his tail happily.

Although he was still a puppy, he appeared to be getting bigger by the minute. He'd doubled in size since Jack had first brought him home and Jeannie was finding it noticeably more difficult to even carry him, much less hold on to him when he saw another animal.

At lunchtime she drove over to Emily's, texting Jack to meet her at the Ritz Hotel. He would undoubtedly be suspicious, but that was all part of the plan. She'd purposely not acknowledged it was his birthday that morning.

Emily met her at the door and Roscoe immediately tore from the car to greet her. "Excited for your romantic getaway?" she asked.

Jeannie laughed. "I wouldn't exactly call it a romantic getaway—more like a few days off work."

"I would love to go to the Ritz," said Emily. She winked at Jeannie. "Have fun!"

Jeannie said goodbye to Roscoe, thanked her friend one more time, and headed to the hotel, hoping Jack would decide to show up early.

After checking in, she settled down on one of the plush chairs in the lobby. It felt so comfortable—she wasn't used to that kind of luxury. The back of the chair molded into her body just the right way and the cover was soft velvet against her skin. She closed her eyes and was just about to drift off to sleep when a surprised voice jerked her back to reality.

" _Jeannie?_ "

A familiar figure was standing in front of her, looking puzzled. " _Oliver?_ " she asked in response. In unison, the two of them said, "What are _you_ doing here?" and both started to laugh.

"I'm spending a weekend here with Jack," said Jeannie. "He should show up any minute."

"You two are still together?" Oliver asked in some astonishment.

"Yes, we are," Jeannie said proudly. She hesitated before asking, "How are you and Miranda?"

"We broke up a while ago," he replied stiffly.

Jeannie had only heard sporadically from both of them, but she wasn't surprised about the split—they had been pretty much over at her wedding. "Why are you in Gotham?" she ventured.

To her surprise, Oliver looked uncomfortable. "I was offered a job here," he said. "I needed to get away from Chicago…"

"Oh, okay," Jeannie said, equally awkwardly. "I can give you a list of places to check out."

"Preferably places where there are a lot of women," Oliver said wryly. "After all, there are plenty of fish in the sea."

"I guess so," Jeannie said, and frowned. He was pulling at his tie and looking nervously behind them. Before she could turn around and see who he was staring at, another man stepped into her field of view. He had a severe, frank look to him and slicked-back brown hair.

"Oliver! It's good to see you're on time." The stranger shook Oliver's hand enthusiastically and turned to Jeannie. "Are you his girlfriend, miss?"

She shook her head, indicating the ring on her finger. "I'm married, but not to him."

"Old friends, then?" Without waiting for her answer, he introduced himself. "My name is Allan Lindner, and I am the manager of Gotham National Bank."

"It's nice to meet you, sir," Jeannie said, not sure what to say. He was looking like he expected her to bow down and kiss his feet.

"Mr. Hammet was going to join me for dinner, but if you'd like to come along too—" He trailed off and his eyes lit up as yet another person was pulled into the conversation. "Jack! What a pleasure to see you!"

Jeannie had never felt more relieved to see Jack. He didn't look pleased to see Lindner; on the contrary, he looked murderous. Wrapping his arm around Jeannie's waist with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, he said, "Allan, I don't think I've ever introduced you to my wife."

"Ah, you must be the lovely Jeannie!" Lindner exclaimed. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"How do you know each other?" Oliver asked.

"The same way you and I know each other, my boy," said Lindner. Jeannie felt Jack tense against her, and she wondered what was going on.

"Would you like to join us for dinner?" Lindner continued. "I'm sure the restaurant here will have a table for four."

"I'm afraid we can't," Jack said through gritted teeth. "Let's _go_ , Jeannie." Ignoring her protests, he dragged her to an empty corner of the lobby. "Why did you bring me here?"

She explained about the lottery tickets and his birthday presents, finishing with a hopeful smile. He pretended to sigh, but the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. "Of all the days you could have done this, _Jean-_ nie, you had to pick the one when Lindner and Ollie boy are here."

"Speaking of which, why is Oliver here anyway?"

"I have no idea. He must work for the mob somehow."

"Oliver works for the _mob_?" Jeannie gaped. She couldn't imagine her quiet, thoughtful best friend associating with criminals, no matter how desperate he was.

"Either that, or he's too stupid to know who Lindner really is," Jack growled. "That doesn't seem so unlikely—"

"Jack!" she scolded. "Listen, just forget about it. Oliver can do what he wants."

"As long as he doesn't drag you into it," he muttered.

Jeannie rolled her eyes. "Forget about it, Jack. Let's go upstairs, okay? We have two days to ourselves here."

She knew full well that he _wasn't_ going to forget about it, but she had to do the best she could. She would have to keep him fully occupied for the next forty-eight hours.

It was lucky she'd been married to him for so long—by now she knew exactly what to do.

* * *

The last thing Lindner wanted to do was have lunch with one of Falcone's new recruits—really, what did the man take him for?—but he pretended to care what the Hammet boy had to say anyway.

"You know Jack Napier?" Hammet asked as they sat down at a quiet table.

Lindner nodded. "Carmine wanted me to keep an eye on him for the past couple of years, but I haven't seen him for a long time because he's not being given as many jobs. You did a good job with Collingwood, by the way. I'm impressed."

Hammet stopped midway through drinking a glass of beer. "I did?" he asked nervously. "I don't think anyone suspected…I mean, I've never done that before."

"Nobody suspected," Lindner assured him. "Collingwood needed to be taken out, anyway. He knew too much about us. Always sticking his nose where it shouldn't be."

Oliver was silent for a moment, running his finger along the rim of the glass. Lindner suppressed a sigh; the new ones were always like this. "I see you know Mrs. Napier, don't you?" he asked.

"We were childhood friends," Hammet said tersely.

"That's a good man. Drink more," Lindner encouraged, shoving another bottle at him. "You want to work for us, don't you?"

Hammet nodded, his eyes sliding out of focus as the alcohol began to take its toll.

"You see, Carmine doesn't like Jack Napier very much. There's… _something_ … he wants him to do, but there is no way Napier will do it with his wife alive." Lindner paused. "If you were to take care of that problem, you would become an instant legend! Carmine would give you everything you wanted. Money, women…"

"You want me to kill Jeannie?" Hammet asked, too loudly.

"No!" Lindner exclaimed, pretending to be shocked. "Not now. I'm just saying…if the opportunity ever arises…you know her well, don't you? It will be easier for you than anyone else…"

Hammet would never have agreed to this while sober, but there was an unspoken rule in the mob that once someone said they were in, they couldn't go back on their word—no matter how indisposed they were at the time. Slowly, the boy nodded.

Lindner smiled and poured him another shot. "Excellent. Carmine will be very pleased to hear that. Now, drink up."


	40. March 2002: Affliction

**Two Months Later**

**March 2002**

The upside about Jeannie's last year of school was that the end was finally in sight. The downside was that she had to write her final thesis.

Jeannie had only begun the first draft, which was always the hardest part, the day before. She was writing about the effects of different teaching styles on students with learning disabilities, which was normally anything _but_ exciting; now, however, she felt like she wanted to tear the paper up and throw it across the room. The perfect word was just on the tip of her tongue, but it felt like there was a block in her brain; tears welled up in her eyes in frustration.

" _Ugh!"_ she yelled, after she'd crossed out the word for the hundredth time. Roscoe jolted awake from where he was sleeping on the couch and whined pitifully.

She was on spring break, but it didn't _feel_ like spring break. It was more like being stuck inside the apartment all day while she caught up with all the work she'd procrastinated on during the semester.

By the time Jack got home Jeannie felt like giving up entirely. She was about to rant about her unproductive day, until she noticed he didn't seem like his usual self. Normally he would crack a joke or turn on the TV, but today he was silent, simply glancing over at her and then walking into the bedroom. Jeannie, glad for a distraction, put her pen down and followed him. Roscoe yawned, jumped off the couch, and trotted loyally after her.

Jack was paler than usual, so pale that his cheekbones were beginning to show. His hair was one wild, untameable mess and the veins on the back of his hands stood out. "Are you okay?" Jeannie asked.

He muttered something that sounded like "Been feeling like shit all day," and collapsed onto the bed, not even bothering to shoo Roscoe out. Jeannie walked over to him and felt his forehead, which was boiling hot. "You might want to take your temperature," she advised him. "I think you have a fever."

"I _know_ I'm sick, _Jean_ -nie," he mumbled. "Everyone at work has the flu."

She had never seen Jack ill before, and had to admit she was curious to find out what he was like. Seeing him as vulnerable as he looked right then made her feel almost reassured—it was a reminder he was still human, whether he liked it or not.

"Do you need anything?" Jeannie said. "We have aspirin in the cabinet—"

"Sleep," he muttered, and was unconscious within three seconds. Jeannie sighed and turned away. With him asleep, there was nothing for her to do other than get back to her essay.

* * *

It didn't take long for her to realize that she _never_ wanted to see Jack ill again. He drifted in and out of consciousness during the night, only waking up to stare at her through unseeing eyes. When she thought he'd finally calmed down, he began to thrash about, muttering words she didn't understand and wasn't completely sure even made sense. When Jeannie couldn't take it anymore, she poured him a glass of water and tried to make him swallow, but he simply coughed it back up and shivered violently, lost in his fever dreams.

She somehow managed to fall asleep just as dawn was beginning to break over the horizon, but was promptly woken up an hour later by an overwhelming wave of nausea that sent her running to the bathroom. When she crawled back into bed, still feeling faint, she hissed to Jack, "Now you got me sick too."

He didn't answer.

* * *

They spent the rest of the morning in bed, both looking like they had been to hell and back. Oddly enough, Jeannie gradually regained her strength and was even able to eat some solid food at lunch, whereas Jack could still barely move. Jeannie wrung out a wet cloth and placed it over his face in hopes it would bring his fever down.

During midafternoon she began to feel ill again, but managed to keep her lunch down. She tried in vain to begin her homework again, but her head was spinning and it was no use. After forty minutes of Roscoe barking and scratching at the door Jeannie eventually let him outside, looking with no small amount of jealousy at the healthy people walking by and hoping she didn't look as bad as she felt.

Jack regained consciousness for good that evening, with a string of curses that made even Jeannie, who was used to his often unpleasant choice of words, wince. "How long was I out?" he asked, his voice husky and broken.

"About a day," she replied. "Do you remember anything?"

He shook his head, looking frustrated. "God, that was fucking horrible. Those _dreams_ …" He coughed hollowly into his sleeve and stumbled out of bed, nearly falling down when he tried to stand. Jeannie quickly steadied him, knowing that the illness was hitting him hard if he was losing his balance. If there was one thing Jack wasn't, it was clumsy.

He seemed to be recovered enough to make dinner, though, and although Jeannie hadn't eaten for hours her stomach felt like it was being squeezed through a vice. She watched him prepare a bowl of soup and as the smell wafted over her, she felt the nausea resurface. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she sprinted to the bathroom, ignoring Jack's calls after her.

"You got me sick too," she accused as she collapsed in front of the toilet, placing her forehead on the cool porcelain.

Jack followed her in looking bemused. "I _didn't_ ," he insisted. "You must have the stomach flu. I had the regular flu."

Jeannie could only groan in response. She felt like never looking at food again.

* * *

Eventually she had to concede that Jack was right, since she woke up nauseous for the next three days. Jack, though still shaky and noticeably paler, went back to work soon afterwards, leaving Jeannie to her own devices. It was very strange; she felt ravenous some times and repulsed the next. She remembered the last time she had the stomach flu she'd been fine after twenty-four hours. _Jack_ was fine after twenty-four hours. What made this the exception?

On the fourth day she made unexpected progress with her essay, subsequently cheering her up. She still had a week before school started again; if she wrote a little bit every day she might even be done with her first draft when she went back. After she'd read over the first draft she called Emily to see how she was doing with the paper.

"Hello?" her friend asked, sounding hoarse.

"Hey, Em," Jeannie said. "Have you worked on your thesis yet?"

"No, I couldn't," Emily answered. "I've been sick since the break started. It's a stomach flu or something."

Jeannie felt greatly relieved; at least she wasn't the only one who had it. "Me too!" she exclaimed. "It's weird, like I only feel sick at certain times of the day."

"Exactly," said Emily. "And when I see food, I want to vomit again. I hope this isn't one of those flus where you feel better and then get even worse a week later."

"I'm sure we'll be fine," Jeannie tried to reassure her. "Just think of it this way: at least we're not sick during school and we miss even _more_ assignments."

"Yep," Emily agreed, and Jeannie hung up feeling much better.


	41. March 2002: Decision

The next day, during a break from writing, Jeannie kept herself busy by tidying up what she could of the tiny apartment, dusting furniture and straightening pictures. Every so often she would feel a twinge of nausea, but she forced herself to ignore it. The aftereffects of the flu were hitting her hard. If it kept up, she would scrape what money she had left to go see a doctor.

She took Roscoe for a walk shortly after lunch and stopped at the park on the way back. Jeannie began throwing sticks for him, but after just a few throws she became so dizzy she had to sit down. _It's fine,_ she told herself. _You were just overexerting yourself, that's all._

But since when did throwing sticks count as overexertion?

She tried to take a nap when she got home, but that only resulted in futile twisting and turning. Jeannie finally gave up and stared at a large crack on the ceiling, trying not to worry. Sometimes the flu could linger for several weeks, right? Then again, Jack seemed to be fine…maybe it was a genetic thing?

Jeannie finally managed to fall into a fitful sleep mid-afternoon. Her dreams were full of odd figures and shapes that never quite seemed to be in focus. She tried to reach for them, but to no avail.

A shrill ringing noise startled her awake. She lay in bed for a second, heart pounding, before she realized it was just her phone. Still half-asleep, she stumbled across the landing to the kitchen. "Hello?" she mumbled blearily after a minute of fumbling with the buttons.

"Jeannie, thank God," Mrs. Kerr said. Her voice sounded tinny and faraway. "Don't you have class?"

"I'm off for a week, Mom; it's spring break," Jeannie replied. "Jack's at work, though. What is it?"

"Dad's in the hospital," her mother replied starkly. "He had a heart attack earlier this morning. They don't think—they don't think he's going to make it."

All traces of exhaustion vanished. She was suddenly on alert, gripping the countertop as if her life depended on it. " _What_?"

"I've already called Harriet and Rebecca; they've both booked flights and are on their way. Liam's at the hospital with me." Mrs. Kerr sounded strained and exhausted.

"I can't believe you saved me until _last_ , Mom!" Jeannie cried. "I'm going to the airport right now."

"Buy the ticket under my name; I'll pay for it," Mrs. Kerr told her. "You can stay at our house."

"Yeah, I will," Jeannie said. "Tell Dad I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?"

"Of course," Mrs. Kerr said, and her voice broke.

That scared Jeannie more than anything she'd heard so far. "It'll be fine, Mom," she said, trying to calm herself as well. "I love you. Bye."

When her mother hung up, Jeannie was left staring at the phone with her mouth still open. Mr. Kerr had been fine when she'd seen him at Christmas…what had changed?

 _Who cares?_ a part of her mind screamed. _Your father is dying and you need to get to Chicago_ now.

That sent Jeannie spiraling into action. She hurried into her room and grabbed her suitcase, stuffing every piece of clothing she could into it. Things like jewelry or toothbrushes didn't matter—she could always buy more on the way. She moved like a whirlwind, strange illness completely forgotten.

Jeannie had just finished packing and was about to call Jack when the front door opened. "Oh, thank God you're here," she breathed. "I was just about to call you."

"Did you miss me that much?" he asked sarcastically.

Normally Jeannie would have responded with a witty reply, but she wasn't in the mood just then. "My mom just called—Dad's in the hospital. He had a heart attack. I have to go see him."

Jack frowned; Jeannie was sure he was recalling the events of the _last_ time she'd had to go see a member of her family. "I'll go pack," he said.

"You mean you're coming with me?"

He snorted. "I'm not letting you go alone, Jeannie."

She nodded, feeling relieved. "My mom said she would pay for the plane tickets. I'll go ask Mrs. Burkiss if she can take care of Roscoe."

"Good luck with that," Jack muttered as he disappeared into the bedroom.

Jeannie grabbed her suitcase and hauled it downstairs and outside to the car. It had started raining. A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. "Perfect," she muttered.

It took Mrs. Burkiss several minutes to answer the door. She was cuddling one of her cats and looked disapprovingly at Jeannie. "What do you want?" she asked.

"Jack and I have to go to Chicago for an urgent family matter," Jeannie explained. "Can you please take care of Roscoe for us? If you could just take him out twice a day and feed him, that would be great—"

"How long are you going to be?" she said brusquely, a scowl beginning to form on her face.

Jeannie blinked in surprise—she thought the old lady liked her. "I'm not sure," she said honestly. "The longest would be a few weeks, I guess…"

"Will he bark?"

"Not if you feed him," she said, adding "Hopefully" under her breath.

Mrs. Burkiss glared at her for another second and Jeannie thought she was about to refuse. Just as she turned to leave, the landlady gave a curt nod. "If I get any trouble from that dog, it's going straight to the pound. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jeannie said, and hurried back to the car before she could promise anything else.

* * *

Thanks to Jack's reckless driving, they were at the airport in half an hour and on the plane in another twenty. The horrible, intrusive thoughts of her father lying in bed while the heart monitor beeped his last moments were too painful for Jeannie to think about. Was there any history of heart problems in her family? She couldn't think of anyone who had died from heart disease.

"Jeannie, calm down," Jack said after she nearly hyperventilated asking him what his opinion was. "There's nothing you can do about it now, so there's no point in even thinking about it."

It was such a _Jack_ thing to say that she stopped bouncing in her seat and glared at him. "Of course, _you_ wouldn't understand," she said scornfully.

"And I'm very glad not to," he agreed.

* * *

Jeannie hailed a taxi as soon as they retrieved their luggage and spent the ride to the hospital with her nerves steadily being pulled tauter. By the time they walked through the front doors she was all but running to the front desk. "I'm here to visit Michael Kerr," she said desperately when the nurse looked up at her. "I'm his daughter."

The nurse flipped through the files agonizingly slowly before nodding and saying, "He's on the fifth floor, room 512."

"Thank you," Jeannie said and pulled Jack into the elevator. For the first time that day, she noticed he still didn't look completely recovered. His face looked even more drawn and pale than usual, accentuating the purple circles under his eyelids. His hair was tousled and greasy. In short, he looked almost as bad as she felt.

"I'll wait out here," he told her when they found the room.

Jeannie nodded and quietly opened the door. Her mother, Liam, Harriet, and Rebecca were all gathered around the bed in the middle of the room. All of them had strained looks on their faces and Mrs. Kerr's face was streaked with tears.

"Dad? Jeannie's here," Liam said softly as she walked up to the bed, suddenly wary.

Her father looked terrible: his face was an ashen gray and the lines on his forehead seemed to be permanently etched into his skin. A cloudy film covered his eyes and his hands shook. There was a rattling sound as he tried to breathe properly.

"Sweetie," he mumbled, his voice barely audible over the beep of the heart monitor. "How are you?"

"Never mind me, Dad, how are you?" It was a stupid question and she could have sworn his lips curved up as if he were trying to smile.

"I've done better," he whispered hoarsely. "Is Jack here?"

"Yes, he's just outside," Jeannie said.

"I…want to…speak to him," Mr. Kerr insisted. "Alone."

"Michael…" her mother began, but he shook his head. "Just for a moment, Victoria."

Jeannie exchanged worried glances with the others, but all of them eventually stood up and filed out of the room one by one. "My dad wants to talk to you," she muttered in Jack's ear as he passed. He gave her an incredulous look, but disappeared into the room.

He was in there for what seemed like an unusually long time. No sound issued from behind the door. Jeannie would have given anything to know what they were talking about. After a heart-wrenching wait, the door opened again and Jack came back out, his face expressionless.

When Jeannie saw her father again, he was breathing even more shallowly and his eyes seemed to be struggling to stay open. "What did you say to him, Daddy?" she whispered.

Mr. Kerr shook his head. "It's not…for you to know," he said. His hand suddenly tightened and relaxed again, his eyes fluttering closed.

Jeannie knew what was going to happen next. The five of them seemed to hold a collective breath. Mrs. Kerr grabbed onto his hand. She wanted to look away, but couldn't tear her eyes off of her father.

The heart monitor slowed until the beeps were only sounding once every few seconds and after one last quick, erratic beat, it stopped for good.

He was dead.

Mrs. Kerr burst into loud, wailing sobs. Jeannie could only stay there, frozen, while her siblings tried to comfort their mother.

A nurse who had heard the commotion bustled in. Her lips pursed in disappointment as she checked his vital signs, though Jeannie thought it was rather redundant. "I'm sorry," she said, which only made Mrs. Kerr cry harder.

"How did it happen so fast?" Jeannie asked.

The nurse gave her a pitying look. "It's most likely caused by stress. He was a police officer for many years. Fifty-four is actually quite a high age for most officers who have worked in Gotham."

Jeannie nodded numbly, but another question was fighting to emerge from her jumbled thoughts. If they hadn't moved to Gotham, would he still be alive?

When she left the room and caught sight of Jack, the most powerful wave of dizziness she had felt yet shook her entire being. The white walls of the hallway suddenly stung her eyes and she stumbled, reaching for the doorknob to steady herself.

"Are you all right?" she heard four voices ask from behind her. Jeannie tried to nod, but her ears were growing fuzzy and her mouth felt like it was full of cotton.

"She's going into shock," someone said. "Get her a glass of water."

"I'm _fine_ ," she vowed, and as she emphasized the last word everything cleared again. Jack was gripping her arm, unsmiling for once, which usually meant he was concerned.

"We'll go back to Mom's house," Harriet muttered. "I'll drive."

Jeannie leaned heavily on Jack—her muscles were still weak—and they went out to the car while Liam and Mrs. Kerr stayed behind to sort out the funeral arrangements. Jeannie was still trying to grasp what had happened: her father was dead. It was a difficult concept; he'd always been so full of vitality and energy. But there had always been a weariness, a sort of stress in his eyes that never completely disappeared.

* * *

Her parents' house—well, she supposed it was her mother's house now—was in a quiet neighborhood on the north side of the city. Liam lived down the street and although Jeannie had never been there before, it looked very similar to the house she'd grown up in. That sent another fresh wave of grief through her.

Susan was waiting in the house with two-year-old David. She knew by the look on their faces what had happened as soon as they walked in the door. "I'm sorry," she said, hugging each one of them in turn. "I know he hadn't been feeling well for the past couple of weeks."

"In happier news," Harriet ventured, wearing her 'I-know-this-is-a-totally-inappropriate-time-but-I'm-going-to-say-it-anyway expression, "Ken and I are engaged."

Jeannie tried to smile at her sister. Harriet was the only unmarried Kerr sibling, and now it looked like she was going to catch up with the rest of them. (Rebecca and George had gotten married the previous winter, but Jeannie had been writing midterms at the time and couldn't attend the wedding.)

After everyone was finished congratulating her, the atmosphere turned more subdued. Jeannie and Jack went up to the guest bedroom and Jeannie opened the window, feeling the cool spring air kiss her face.

She hadn't cried yet, but she wasn't surprised by her lack of tears. It was probably some sort of delayed reaction and she would wake up in the middle of the night bawling her eyes out. Right now she was still trying to process the fact. She caught a glimpse of herself in her pocket mirror and cringed; she looked absolutely horrific.

"What did my father say to you?" she asked Jack as she dug in her purse for a hairbrush.

"He thanked me for _taking care_ of you," he said, unable to hide his amusement. "Obviously, he never saw us argue."

"It's good he didn't," Jeannie replied dryly. As she rooted through her purse she came across her small bottle of birth control pills. Remembering she hadn't taken one that day, she popped open the bottle. As she was about to put the pill in her mouth, Jack frowned.

"Why are you taking aspirin?" he asked.

Jeannie frowned. "These are my birth control pills," she said. "Not aspirin."

Jack reached over and broke one in half, examining the powder that spilled onto his fingers. "This is aspirin, _Jean_ -nie," he said. "You took the wrong one."

"It can't be!" Jeannie argued. "I always put my pills in the same place."

Jack shrugged. "Maybe you got them mixed up with aspirin. I put some in the cabinet back in January."

Jeannie felt as if there was some crucial truth that was dangling just out of reach. "Where did you put my pills then?" she asked, fighting to keep her breathing normal.

He looked at her like she'd just asked him what her name was. "I might have moved some things around. What's the matter?"

"This means," she said in a deadly flat tone, "I've been taking painkillers instead of birth control for the past two months."

His look turned disbelieving, effectively masking the horror Jeannie knew was right below the surface. "Are you sure?"

" _Yes_ , Jack, of course I'm sure!" she screeched, her voice rising higher in pitch. She looked frantically around, as if searching for something that could save her. "How many times have we—"

"I don't know," he said. "I don't keep track of those things!"

But Jeannie knew it was too late. Everything pointed to one phenomenon. Her flu-that-wasn't-a-flu, which, she realized, had been—"Morning sickness," she breathed. "Nausea. Mood swings. Irritability. Strange cravings—"

She whirled around and stared at herself in the mirror, as if expecting to have suddenly gained fifty pounds. Her hands flew to her stomach and her heart dropped as she realized that there _was_ a tiny bump—small enough not to notice if she wasn't looking for it, but large enough to prove that one was indeed there.

Jack, too, was staring at her stomach as if it was about to explode. "Get a test," he said immediately. "Maybe it's something else—"

" _What_ else could it be, Jack?" she cried. "Face it—I'm…" But she couldn't say the word aloud. _Pregnant,_ she thought. _I'm pregnant._ The notion was so strange to her that her mind rejected it entirely, pretending that it didn't exist.

His face was a comical mixture of shock and disbelief. Jeannie stared at him for another second before fleeing the room, calling, "Mom! _Mom!_ "

"She's still at the hospital," Harriet said, appearing out of the living room. "What is it?"

"I just realized," Jeannie gasped as Jack followed after her, "I think I might be—"

" _Pregnant_ ," Jack snarled, spitting the word out as if it were poisonous. "Do you have a test somewhere?"

Harriet's eyes popped. "Jeannie?" she said. "My baby sister is expecting a… _baby?"_

"Not now, Harriet," Jeannie said crossly.

Her sister sighed. "Well, I can take you to a doctor at least. There's a walk-in clinic not far from here—it'll be more reliable than a test."

With a hasty goodbye to Susan and Rebecca, the three of them got into the car and drove to the clinic. Luckily, the doctor called Jeannie in right away—she wasn't sure she had the patience to wait.

"So what seems to be the problem?" asked the doctor, a petite brunette whose nametag read Dr. Marshall.

"I think I'm pregnant," Jeannie said, stumbling over the last word.

Dr. Marshall nodded. "What are the symptoms?"

Jeannie quickly recited the symptoms she'd had the past months, including mixing up the pills. "…Everything seemed to happen overnight," she finished. "One day I was perfectly fine and the next I woke up with morning sickness. Aren't the symptoms supposed to come on gradually?"

The doctor finished scribbling down a note and said, "Not necessarily. Everyone is different. Some women do not even experience symptoms until the second trimester. Do you know how far along you are?"

Jeannie shook her head. "I guess the mix-up happened around January, so it would be anytime since then."

"To know for sure you would have to go the hospital and get an ultrasound, but the results could take weeks to arrive. I can, however, take a small blood test if all you want is confirmation of the fact."

"I'd like that," Jeannie said quietly, folding her hands in her lap.

Dr. Marshall paused, looking thoughtful, and said, "If you don't mind me asking, is the father around?"

Jeannie showed her the wedding ring. "He is, but I don't think he wants a baby."

"Do _you?_ " the doctor asked gently. "You're the one who will be carrying the child and giving birth, after all."

"Yes," she said without hesitation. "My father passed away earlier today and I'm just in shock…but I do want this baby. I'm not going to sacrifice it just because of a stupid mistake."

Dr. Marshall nodded, a small, sad smile on her face. "I was in your position once too, you know," she said. "But I made a different choice, and have regretted it every single day."

* * *

It took an hour for the results of the blood test to come back, but Jeannie was willing to wait. She wasn't sure she could stand being in her mother's house, while the oppressive sadness hung like a cloud over it. The regret of not telling her father he would have a fourth grandchild was bitter on her tongue and in her heart.

The test only confirmed what Jeannie already knew: she was just over two months pregnant. Her due date was October fifth, thus making the date of conception around the thirteenth of January—the night she and Jack had spent at the Ritz Hotel. It figured that she'd conceived the very first time she hadn't taken the pill in three years.

Jack was impassive the entire time, his eyes fixed on the floor. Jeannie tried to take his hand, but it was limp and unresponsive in her grasp.

Sensing that something was wrong, Harriet was quiet during the drive back and quickly left the car once they'd arrived. Jeannie didn't get out right away, instead turning to glance at Jack. He looked up and met her gaze for the first time that afternoon.

"As soon as we get back to Gotham, I'll take you to get rid of it," he said darkly. "I'll get the money somehow."

"Get _rid_ of it?" Jeannie asked in surprise. "Jack, you want me to have an abortion?"

"It's not going to disappear by itself," he said.

"This is our child, though!" she said desperately. "We can't just—"

"How are you going to take care of it?" he hissed. "We may not be broke, but we sure as hell can't take care of a baby! I _told_ you I didn't want children, Jeannie!"

"Well, I've made my decision," she said angrily. "You don't have to take care of it if you don't want to. I am keeping this baby, Jack, and there's _nothing_ you can do about it!"

With that, she wrenched open the car door and went inside, leaving him behind.


	42. May 2002: Hope

**Two Months Later**

**May 2002**

People were of two minds concerning pregnancy, Jeannie decided. There were those would smile at her and ask, "When is the baby due?" and there were those who would curl their lip in disgust and look at her like she should be ashamed of herself.

She was now four months pregnant, and luckily things had settled down a bit. She was no longer waking up at six in the morning with nausea so bad she had to spend the rest of the morning vomiting, and she could eat whole meals without feeling sick. Her moods seemed to have stabilized as well—she no longer burst into tears at the drop of a pin.

Jack had argued with her for weeks, trying to get her to have an abortion, but Jeannie was adamant about her decision. There was nothing he could do short of tying her down and cutting the fetus out himself, but that would risk killing her as well. After the third month, as her stomach grew larger day by day he'd gradually stopped bringing up the issue until he acted like there was nothing out of the ordinary happening at all. Whenever Jeannie went to the doctor or complained about her clothes not fitting anymore, he would ignore her or grunt noncommittally before changing the subject.

School, however, was a different story. In the earlier stage of her pregnancy, Jeannie had missed many days due to feeling ill or having intense mood swings. Although she was attending more often now, it was impossible to ignore the accusing looks of the other students and even some of the professors. "At least I'm still _going_ ," she wanted to scream at them. "Do you even realize I'm married?"

The only person who was able to empathize fully with her was Emily. Jeannie had wondered what the cause of her illness was, and had been greatly surprised when she confessed that _she_ was pregnant as well. Emily and Anthony Garcia had been dating for two and a half years, so it wasn't as much of a scandal as it could have been. They'd had a rushed wedding the month before, with Jeannie and Anthony's best friend acting as witnesses. Now Emily was living with Anthony's parents, who were both well-known political figures, in their mansion in the Palisades.

Emily's baby was due in the middle of August, four weeks before Jeannie's. She had called her excitedly the day before, squealing that it was going to be a boy. Jeannie didn't know what gender her baby was yet: her doctor had asked if she wanted an ultrasound during the last visit, but she'd refused. She wanted to keep it a surprise—that way, Jack couldn't use yet another reason for her to get an abortion if it was a girl. In fact, he'd only spoken once about the matter.

"It better be a boy," he'd grumbled under his breath one day.

"What's wrong with a girl?" Jeannie had asked, slightly hurt.

"Girls are no _fun_ ," he'd said. "They're too sensitive. They can't take a _joke_."

She'd glared at him but let the matter drop; the fact that he was even considering putting up with the baby was a huge step forward, in her opinion.

Now she was newly twenty-two, with a month of school left. She had decided to work longer hours and save up as much money as she could until the baby was born, then take a year off before going to teacher's college. Hopefully she could get a decent job after that and they would be able to move to a proper house.

She was absent-mindedly stroking Roscoe and watching a sitcom on TV when he suddenly barked and squirmed away from her, bounding to the door. Jeannie looked up expectantly to see Jack walk in looking angrier than she had ever seen him; his teeth were bared and his eyes were narrowed into slits. "What is it?" she asked.

"They _fired_ me," he snarled.

"Fired you? What happened?"

"The owner found out about my past with the mob," Jack hissed. "I'm sure Falcone tipped him off himself."

"But why would they do that?" Jeannie cried. "You haven't worked for them for months."

"Falcone hates me," Jack said. "He got me the job at the factory, but that's only because he thought I was useful at the time."

Jeannie didn't know how to react. The loss of his job meant that their primary source of income was gone. She barely made enough money to support herself; how could they support two (soon-to-be-three) people?

"I don't know what to say, Jack," she replied, shaking her head. "I'll take extra shifts at work or something—"

"No, you can't," he said fiercely. "Not with that…your _condition_. I'll figure out some way—"

"As long as it doesn't involve murder," Jeannie said sharply. "My child is not growing up with a murderer as a father."

"Do you want to _starve_?" Jack yelled, slamming his hand down on the table. "Do you want to live in this place forever?"

"No, of course not!" Jeannie protested. "I just want us to do the right thing!"

"The right thing isn't always the good thing," Jack growled. "When will you _understand_ that?" When she didn't answer, he gave her a disgusted look and stormed away. As always, Jeannie got up and followed him.

"Listen, I'm sorry," she said stiffly, hovering in the doorway to the bedroom. "I'm just really stressed out right now, with school, the pregnancy and now this."

"But they were your choices," he reminded her. "You didn't have to go to school and you could have gotten rid of the baby."

 _You would have loved that, wouldn't you_? Jeannie paused for a moment before walking around the side of the bed and wrapping her arms around him from behind. "We'll get through this somehow, Jack," she murmured, kissing his scarred cheeks. "I promise."

He turned around and stared at her swollen stomach, letting out a huge sigh. "We better," he said darkly.

She nodded in agreement, but it was impossible to silence the voice in the back of her mind that said no, things _wouldn't_ turn out all right.


	43. June 2002: Fate

**One Month Later**

**June 2002**

It had taken all of her limited powers of persuasion to convince Jack to go to her graduation, but Jeannie had somehow managed to do it. She was ecstatic that despite the tumultuous years she had spent at university, she had made it.

Jack was still out of a permanent job. Jeannie knew that he had been in talks with the mob again but so far, she was clueless as to what exactly he was doing. In fact, she wasn't even sure if they had paid their rent for that month. Did Mrs. Burkiss like them so much that she was willing to overlook a payment or two? There had to be other tenants who were even worse off than them.

A light snore from beside Jeannie made her nudge Jack's shoulder. "Wake up!" she hissed. "Everyone can see you!"

"Yes, but they're not paying attention," he muttered back, but opened his eyes.

Jeannie adjusted her gown, which didn't do a very good job of hiding her rapidly growing stomach. Her unpleasant symptoms had all but stopped and now the only thing that gave away her pregnancy was her appearance. She'd had to buy a whole new wardrobe (she'd finally given in and borrowed money from the bank) and although her clothes fit better, she'd woken up one morning to discover she couldn't see her feet anymore. She was starting to waddle as well, making her feel like a giant, overgrown penguin.

When the dean called her name, Jeannie walked up to the stage and took her diploma from him. She could feel the crowd's astonishment and disapproval at her appearance, but she refused to look at them and walked back to Jack, feeling their eyes on her even as she sat down.

"Can we leave now?" he asked. "We've been here for hours."

"I want to stay, Jack," she replied. "I promised Emily I'd meet up with her afterwards."

The crowd had also stared at Emily when she'd gone up—she was even farther along than Jeannie. _Two pregnancies!_ they'd probably muttered to themselves. _When I graduated the girls were intelligent enough not to fool around…_

She settled back into her chair and was just about to take a leaf from Jack's book and doze off when she felt a tiny nudge against her stomach. Confused, Jeannie looked down at herself, but there was nothing there. She was about to shrug it off as her imagination when she felt it again, more persistent this time. It was as if something was touching her stomach—from the inside—"

"Jack!" she yelped, forgetting to keep her voice down. He jolted awake again. "The baby kicked!"

"You mean it's never done that before?" he said dryly, unimpressed.

In a moment of thoughtlessness, she grabbed his hand and placed it on her stomach. Sure enough, she could tell by the look on his face he had felt it. "It's wonderful, Jack," Jeannie murmured, a smile spreading across her face. "It's _our_ baby."

"Just don't start crying," he said, but he couldn't mask his surprise. It was as if he hadn't fully believed there was something alive in there until then.

Jeannie suddenly understood what her mother meant when she said pregnancy was a miracle.

* * *

On their way back from the university, Jeannie sat clutching the scroll that contained her diploma in her lap, twisting it around and around in her hands. She'd invested four years and thousands of dollars into…what? Surely no piece of paper with a few words on it that was worth _that_ much. Perhaps it was the worth of her knowledge? But she wondered if being an expert on the Renaissance or the Industrial Revolution would garner her points in real life. Jack certainly had no interest in history. He scoffed every time she tried to explain something she found fascinating.

He turned into the parking lot of an abandoned, derelict building in the worst part of the Narrows instead of going back to their apartment. "Where are you taking me?" Jeannie asked, trying to keep an accusing tone out of her voice.

He laughed as he parked the car under a large oak tree and hopped out, pulling open her door with a mock-grandiose gesture. "To celebrate your _achievement_ ," he drawled sarcastically, grinning from ear to ear.

Jeannie rolled her eyes at him but climbed out of the car, hating the way her stomach ballooned out in front of her. The baby hadn't kicked again, but she had one hand resting on her belly so she wouldn't miss it if it did.

Her younger self would have asked if it was safe, but she'd learned long ago that things concerning Jack Napier were rarely _safe_ , so she was left with no choice but to trust him as he led her into the building and up a rotting staircase that appeared as if it would collapse under her weight.

Jeannie was breathing hard by the time they reached the top—she'd lost count of how many flights she'd climbed. "How—did—you—find—this—place?" she wheezed as Jack stopped in front of a door.

"I had a job here once," he said nonchalantly, and she gasped.

"You _killed_ someone here?"

"Yeah—so?" he asked bluntly. "Their ghost isn't gonna be floating around here, _Jean_ -nie."

She continued to protest, but he silenced her with a hard kiss before kicking open the door. Her protests died on her lips as they stepped out onto the rooftop. The huge skyscrapers in the financial district towered over them, with the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean stretching out beyond the city. If she squinted hard enough, Jeannie could even make out the distant lights of planes taking off and landing at the airport in the distance. "Oh, Jack, it's a wonderful view!" she exclaimed.

They stood in silence for a while, hand-in-hand. Jeannie wondered how long he had known about the place. Eventually she broke the quiet, moving his hand to her stomach. "Have you thought of any names?" she asked.

"You're ruining the moment," Jack teased, but his eyes narrowed at the mention of their child. "Of course I haven't thought of any names."

"Do you even _care_?"

He shook his head, and Jeannie tried to ignore the stab of hurt. "Well, I was thinking Michael if it's a boy, after my father."

" _Michael_ …" Jack mused. The momentary flash of coldness in his eyes had turned to amusement. "Nope, I don't like that name."

"…And Diana if it's a girl," Jeannie finished. "After your mother." She held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

"I know what my mother's name was," Jack said firmly. "Listen, _Jean_ -nie, I don't care what you name the kid. I'm not gonna be doing most of the parenting anyway, so you might as well knock yourself out."

Jeannie sighed; they were back to square one. "So you're leaving me on my own?"

"Basically." He took his hand away from her stomach and stuck it into his pocket.

"Jack, don't be difficult," she pleaded. "I need to know that you're not going to…leave me or anything."

" _Leave_ you?" he repeated, smirking. "Why would I leave you? If I was going to do _that_ , I would have left a long time ago."

"But the pregnancy—"

"—Doesn't matter. Once the kid's out of you, we can do whatever we want." His smirk grew even wider at her indignant expression. "Relax, love. It's not the end of the world."

"Look who's talking," Jeannie mumbled. "You acted as if it was the apocalypse when _you_ first heard that I was pregnant."

Jack laughed and she suddenly found herself being pushed back against the wall, his lips on her neck and his hands reaching for the button of her jeans. "Enough talk about _children_ ," he whispered. "Let's talk about how you _got_ pregnant in the first place."

"We can't do it here," she argued, trying unsuccessfully to pull away from him. "We're on a fucking rooftop— _Jack_!"

He had yanked her back inside the building, his mouth silencing her protests. "This used to be a hotel," he murmured between kisses. "There still ought to be a bed around _somewhere_."

Jeannie knew better than to try and protest—she could never resist Jack, no matter how insane his demands were.

* * *

"We need to do something about Napier soon," Falcone said in a low voice. He was sitting at the restaurant he so often frequented, with Dimitrov and another mobster named Gambol across from him. "He fucked up the last job he did. The kid needs the money. We can get him to do what we want."

"Get him to break into Ace Chemicals," Gambol answered. "He's been fired, so I'm sure he'll be even happier to get revenge."

"We need to test the toxin they've made," ordered Falcone. "Napier was working on it before he was fired. I'm getting the Crane kid to test it too. If it works then we can use it on the Narrows."

"But Napier will never do that, remember?" Dimitrov said lazily. "His wife lives there. As long as she's around—"

"But what if she isn't?" Falcone asked quietly. "Hammet promised Lindner that he would get rid of her. He won't chicken out."

There was silence as Dimitrov and Gambol considered it. Dimitrov finally said, "But isn't Napier good at his job?"

"Too good," Falcone muttered. "He's turning what's supposed to be quick and efficient into blood baths. They cops will discover him soon if he isn't careful. We can't have someone like him threatening the organization. He has to go regardless."

"So we kill his wife, force him to test out the toxin, and then cast him out?" Gambol asked, speaking up for the first time. "What if he squeals?"

"We'll kill him anyway," Falcone said. "We'll let him think he's safe for a while and then when he's not expecting it…"

The restaurant door opened and Oliver Hammet walked in, looking nervous. Falcone waved him over and he sat obediently down, shifting to the opposite wall as if he wanted to sit as far away from them as possible.

"Good news. We have a job for you," Falcone began. He quickly explained the plan to Oliver, who looked shocked.

" _Me?"_ he said slowly, as if he couldn't understand. "You want _me_ to do it?"

"Yes."

"How?"

The three men exchanged a look. "Try starting a fire," Gambol suggested. "It's less suspicious and that way you'll erase all traces of evidence. They'll never be able to find her body."

He nodded slowly. "What if Jack finds out I did it?"

"He won't," Falcone said. "We'll take care of him right afterwards."

Oliver looked very pale now. "When?"

"Next month," Dimitrov replied. "Crane should be finished with his part of the toxin by then. The summer heat will give you an excuse as well. You'll pose as a cop and be the first one on the scene. One of us will be around to distract Napier if he gets home early."

"Will I have to tell him?"

The men shook their heads. "I will," said Gambol. "I've never met the kid."

"We'll be in touch, Hammet," Falcone told him. "Remember…you will get a reward if you do it right, but if you don't then the consequences will be severe."

Oliver nodded and, looking slightly green, got up on shaking legs and left the restaurant.

"You think he'll do it?" Gambol muttered.

Falcone shrugged. "If he chickens out then we'll just get someone else."

"I heard Napier's wife is pregnant," Dimitrov said. "I saw her walking around the Narrows a few days ago."

"It's a shame," Falcone replied, but he didn't sound sorry in the least.

Now all they had to do was sit back and see if Oliver would do his job.


	44. July 2002: End

**One Month Later**

**July 2002**

Ironically, the day when everything in her world fell apart started off as a bright, sunny summer morning. Jeannie, now six months pregnant, woke up to find Jack getting dressed. "Where are you going so early?" she mumbled into her pillow.

"Falcone wants to see me," he said.

She shot up so fast it made her dizzy, the covers flying off the bed. "You can't do this, Jack! I thought you were finished with the mob!"

He shrugged. "I guess not. Don't you want the money, tiger?"

"Not if it's blood money," she exclaimed. "Our child is not growing up while their father is in jail for murder!"

He turned slowly to face her, the muscles in his jaw working tightly. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said dangerously. "I'm not a saint, Jeannie."

"I know you aren't, Jack! I just—you're _better_ than this."

"No I'm _not_ ," he growled. "I can do whatever I want."

Jeannie climbed out of bed and followed him to the door. "They might just be trying to trick you," she said. "You even said yourself that Falcone hated you—"

"Get out of the way," he hissed, and Jeannie felt her anger boil up and spill over.

"You're a _freak_ , Jack," she yelled after his retreating figure. "A freak!"

There were some lines never to cross during a fight with Jack, and Jeannie had just take a flying leap over one of them. The words tumbled out of her mouth before she fully realized what she was saying, and she instantly wished she could take them back.

Jack turned around, and she saw a look that was familiar to her but seemed foreign on his face. It took Jeannie a second to realize what it was.

Pain.

* * *

She spent the rest of the morning reading a book and trying not to think about the way he had looked at her. She had never seen him like that before, ever. It was a completely vulnerable, helpless look. Jack Napier wasn't known for being either vulnerable or helpless. It cut her right to the core and she kept glancing over at her phone, wondering whether to text him, but she chickened out every time. She made a promise to herself to apologize as soon as he got home.

The baby was more active that day than usual; Jeannie could hardly move without feeling a tiny kick. She patted her stomach and sighed. "I did the wrong thing, little buddy."

It kicked once more as if to say _yes_ and then fell quiet. Jeannie curled up on the couch, the heat from outside burning into the room, and was soon asleep.

She was awakened by a hammering at the front door. Disoriented, she opened her eyes and before she could grab something to defend herself, it swung open.

" _Oliver_!" Jeannie yelled in surprise. He was pale and slightly green, dressed in a police officer's uniform.

"You need to leave," he said sharply.

"Leave?" Jeannie asked. "Why?"

"The mob wants you dead. They want me to burn down your apartment."

Her blood went cold. "But—my stuff—"

"Your stuff doesn't matter," Oliver shouted. "I can't kill you, Jeannie. You were my best friend. They're here, watching us! Go back to Chicago."

"But—Roscoe—Jack—"

"Bring the dog; I don't care."

"And Jack?" Jeannie grabbed Roscoe and numbly followed Oliver out of the apartment.

"He's dead. The mob killed him," Oliver said flatly.

The world began to spin around her and she nearly tripped down the stairs. "Dead?" she whimpered. "I warned him not to go to that meeting…I warned him…"

"Get on the first flight you can," Oliver said. "I already called Emily and she's coming to pick you up. I—"

But he couldn't finish because Jeannie had fainted dead away.

* * *

"Bring her to Chicago," he instructed Emily as he carried an unconscious Jeannie outside. "She needs to get far away from here."

"What about Roscoe?" asked Emily, twisting around to make room in the backseat.

"You can keep him," Oliver said. "They don't allow dogs on airplanes. I bought the tickets myself—here—" He fumbled in his pocket and brought out two slips of paper. "Whatever you do, _don't let her come back here_."

"So Jack is dead?" Emily asked.

Oliver nodded. "Shot down by the mob." This was a lie, of course. In order for Jeannie to stay in Chicago, he had to make her believe that there was nothing left in Gotham for her.

"What do I do once I get there?"

"Call her mother. She'll take her in," Oliver said. He looked one more time at his once best friend lying in the backseat, wondering if he was doing the right thing. He was risking death and all manner of grisly torture by doing this…but he wouldn't kill her. He couldn't.

When Emily had driven away, he trudged back inside the building, feeling bile slowly travel up his throat. He had had grandiose dreams of becoming part of the mob, a hired killer who would become rich and notorious. But he was horrible at it. He'd struggled with Zach Collingwood. The man's terrified face still haunted his dreams at night. Oliver had begun to vomit even before his lifeblood had drained away. He wasn't like Jack. He couldn't kill in cold blood. Really, he had no idea why Falcone wanted to get rid of Jack. He was the best one of them all.

Now he felt weak and shaky as he slipped back inside the apartment building. He was about to send hundreds of people to their deaths, all without touching a knife or gun. The midsummer heat burned down onto the back of his neck, and he struggled to breathe. The humidity was almost unbearable and he heard a low rumble of thunder in the distance. The blue sky was quickly being taken over by an oppressive mass of gray cloud.

Oliver struck the match and inhaled the acrid, burning stench of smoke, coughing as he did. He held the match out at arm's length, closing his eyes and throwing it onto the wooden building.

The spark traveled along the wood until it got to a fuse and Oliver sprinted away, hearing the screams of the people trapped inside. Tears were streaming down his face and he grabbed his phone, holding it to his ear. Falcone answered on the first ring. "Hammet?"

"Yes," he gasped.

"Napier is in the next room. Did you do it?"

Oliver took a deep, shaky breath. "Yes," he lied. "I killed her."


	45. July 2002: Descent

Edward Nashton was finally free.

He'd been released from Arkham on good behavior. After he'd taken an aptitude test and conducted conversations with endless psychiatrists, they'd reluctantly granted him permission to leave, under the conditions that he live no more than ten minutes from the asylum and meet with a doctor three times a week. He was pumped full of medications and aside from his bloodshot eyes, looked and acted perfectly normal.

He paced around the wooden floor in his new apartment, listening to his footsteps echo around the empty room. He had no furniture aside from a bed and an old armchair. But he didn't mind it that way—the less objects he owned, the better.

Edward knelt in front of the picture window and pulled out a pair of binoculars. From here he could see the entire city—and Arkham Asylum. He spat on the ground, curling his lips in disgust.

"What is a six-letter synonym for hell?" he muttered to himself, and laughed darkly.

Jack had been right—Edward wasn't insane in the least.

His act for the past four years had been just that—an act. Edward couldn't stand his family—his self-righteous, superficial family, especially his little sister Emily who would amount to nothing—and the only way out other than killing them had been the insane route. He'd spent four years in prison, giving him plenty of time to think up his _true_ plan—the destruction of Gotham. His time at Arkham had given him enough understanding of criminals to know what and what not to do. He would take control of the city—people being the mindless sheep they were, it shouldn't be that difficult.

Now, looking out at the city, he felt utterly confident. It was only a matter of time before everything was _his_.

The orange flicker of a flame caught his attention and he immediately lifted the binoculars to his eyes, watching a building across the street go up in flames. That was certainly a shame, he thought dryly. It had to have been deliberately set. Then again, it looked like a storm was coming. Perhaps a bolt of lightning had struck it.

Edward watched the tragedy unfold: the firefighters arrived first, rushing bravely into the still-smoldering building, but there was nothing they could do. The police got there next, setting up barriers to prevent any curious people from sneaking into the wreckage. The paramedics arrived last, but there was no use for their stretchers and ambulances, not when the only remains were piles of ashes.

With an emotionless expression on his face, Edward put his binoculars down and turned away. It was just another destruction of a building in Gotham. What effect could it possibly have on the future in any way?

Yes, Edward was truly sane. Everything he had said and done for the past four years had been an act.

Or was that just the medication talking?

* * *

Falcone had chosen to meet Jack at a comedy club.

It was rather ironic, which was exactly the reason he had selected it. However, the current comedian's jokes were failing miserably and most of the guests were simply getting up and leaving.

Everything was in place. Dimitrov was waiting by the apartment to make sure Hammet did his job, and Gambol was sitting at the table across from Falcone. Napier was supposed to meet them any time now.

"You think Hammet will do it?" Gambol muttered.

"It's either that or die." Falcone snorted. "All he has to do is set a fire. It's not that hard."

"There he is," Gambol said. Napier walked in slowly, looking guarded as usual. Falcone waved him over, but he didn't sit down.

"This is one of my close associates, Joseph Gambol," Falcone began. Gambol held out a hand, but Napier didn't take it. "He's going to explain to you what you'll have to do."

"And what if I refuse?" Napier asked.

"You won't," said Gambol firmly. Falcone couldn't suppress a grin as he witnessed the internal power struggle between the two men.

"Well," Falcone said, breaking the tense silence, "I'll just—" Right on cue, his phone rang. "Excuse me," he said, getting up and leaving the main room. "I'll take this."

Napier watched him with a look of pure disgust as he left, but he was the least of Carmine's worries at the moment. "Hammet?" he asked at once.

"Yes," Oliver answered, sounding out of breath.

"Napier is in the next room," Falcone said in a low voice. "Did you do it?"

There was an infinitesimal pause, and Hammet replied, "Yes. I killed her."

* * *

When Falcone came back into the room, Napier and Gambol were discussing the plan. "How much do I get?" Napier asked.

"As much as you want," Gambol said. "You need the money, don't you?"

Napier hesitated and frowned. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," replied Gambol. "All you have to do is—"

Clearing his throat, Falcone came back into the room, wearing a somber expression. Pulling Gambol aside, he whispered, "It's done."

Gambol nodded and Falcone slunk away, leaving him to it.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news for you," Gambol began once he'd sat back down, looking Jack in the eye, "Carmine just got a call from Oliver Hammet. He was on his way to visit your wife when he smelled smoke and realized that your apartment building had been set on fire. The police have been investigating, but it looks like your wife didn't make it out alive—there are no survivors."

"Dead?" Jack repeated slowly, drawing out the word. "She's… _dead_?"

His reaction, Gambol thought, was quite unusual. Instead of tearing up or going into denial, he sounded shocked, as if the word suddenly held an entirely new connotation. "Yes," he said. "Listen, kid, we still want you to go ahead with the plan tonight—"

His words fell on deaf ears as Napier kicked back his chair and stalked out of the room. Gambol stood up and ran after him, but he had disappeared.

That was the last time the mob had any contact with Jack Napier. Later, he would be officially declared dead and all traces that he ever existed would vanish.

* * *

By the time Jack reached the apartment, there was a huge crowd gathered around the smouldering pile of ashes that had once been his home. A bolt of lightning split the sky, with the ensuing thunder reverberating around the city.

"J—Jack?" a voice said hesitantly. Jack didn't turn, but Oliver stepped in front of him.

"Listen…I'm sorry about Jeannie," he said quietly. "I know you loved her—"

"Get out," Jack whispered dangerously, still not looking at him.

"I was just trying to—"

Now Jack turned and met his gaze, and the look that was on his face was one Oliver had never seen before in his life, so wild and inhuman that it was something straight from his darkest nightmares.

"GET OUT!" he screamed. His voice was not that of Jack Napier anymore, but of something more devil than man. Oliver turned and fled, narrowly missing the knife that soared just over his head and embedded itself into the building ahead of him.

* * *

The pain was indescribable. As soon as Oliver was out of sight, Jack fell to the ground, gasping for breath. " _You're a freak_!" Her last words rang in his ears. "Fuck," he hissed, feeling his eyes start to burn. His vision blurred and the hot, salty taste of tears seeped into his mouth. The sensation was entirely foreign—he hadn't cried since he was five years old.

Jack felt bile rise up in his throat and he vomited onto the concrete. The pain was too much—he was nothing—he was _no one_ —

_She's dead._

_My fault._

_No._

Her _fault._

_I'm a freak._

_Monster._

_She's the freak for staying with me._

_Did she think it was_ funny _?_

_I could have saved her._

_I can't even save myself._

_It hurts. Oh fuck, it hurts, I'll do anything, just please bring her back, I loved her, I fucking loved her._

"I loved you," Jack choked. "Oh God—Jeannie—" He shuddered violently, wanting to rip his heart out of his chest. His agonized scream pierced his ears. Just as he was beginning to think his life might turn out all right after all, it had been ripped away from him in the worst way possible.

As Jack stared blindly at the ground, the pain building to an unbearable intensity, something inside of his brain snapped. He couldn't take it anymore—he would surely die—unless—

A joke. That was all everything was.

One big joke.

And his half-choked screams gradually became less and less recognizable until his face was contorted and the screams began to sound something like laughter.

The world was a joke. Everything was a joke.

It was _hilarious._


End file.
